The special operations diver hastily reeled in the fishing line while swimming toward Lijui. One after another, other team members emerged—some armed with harpoon guns, others wielding underwater rifles—all converging on Lijui. A foolhardy move! Gritting his teeth, Lijui clenched his hands, relentlessly pulling the fishing line as the two adversaries rapidly closed the distance. Suddenly seized by panic, one diver released his harpoon gun in a desperate bid to flee. But Lijui swiftly ensnared him with one arm while coiling the fishing line tightly around his neck with the other, looping several times before applying a suffocating grip. Witnessing his comrade in peril, a third diver immediately accelerated toward them, harpoon gun in hand. Yet, he dared not fire, instead thrusting the spear directly at Lijui. With his left hand, Lijui grasped the harpoon shaft firmly; simultaneously, his right hand gripped the spear embedded in his body and violently yanked it free.
The barbed tip of the javelin tore a gaping wound across his own chest as he yanked it free, yet he seemed utterly unfazed. With a swift reversal of the weapon, he impaled the third team member straight through.
At that moment, the second assailant—who had shot him earlier—seized the opportunity to slash the fishing line with a dagger. While his comrade entangled the enemy, he circled behind in silence, driving the blade toward the foe's heart with deadly intent.
But this one was cunning. Rather than withdrawing the dagger, he pushed with brutal force, ensuring the strike would be fatal and leave no room for retaliation.
Or so he thought.
In the instant the blade pierced flesh, the enemy—Li Zhui—twisted violently, seizing the assailant's wrist with both hands and wrenching him to the front. With one powerful yank, he tore off the man's breathing mask. Then, with a cruel calmness, he pried open the man's mouth with iron fingers and dislocated his jaw. Yet even that was not enough to sate his fury—gripping the jawbone, he gave a vicious pull, ripping it clean off.
The grisly scene froze the remaining team members in horror. In the blink of their stunned stupor, Li Zhui darted forward and pierced the throat of another soldier.
The squad leader hesitated no longer. He pressed a button on his dive watch; a sharp ultrasonic buzz echoed through the water—retreat signal. All remaining troops disengaged immediately.
Blood poured from the ragged gash across Li Zhui's right chest, the wound deepened by the ferocity of combat. He was already on the edge of paralysis. But letting them escape? Impossible.
With a thought, his muscles contracted with unnatural speed. Mesenchymal cells flooded the torn tissue, rapidly regenerating the damage. Simultaneously, the skin secreted an oily film rich in collagen, sealing the injury beneath a translucent sheath.
Ten seconds later, he began to move. In underwater combat, one's build defines capability. Aquatic creatures move with effortless grace—compared to them, land beasts flounder. Though Li Zhui had a thick torso, his limbs were long and caused high drag during turns. He learned this during the earlier battle. Now, he kept his upper arms and thighs still, relying instead on the flexibility of elbows and knees, moving forearms and shins like flippers.
At first, this constrained swimming style felt unnatural, but with such low-tier opponents, it was the perfect chance to adapt.
In the second chamber, he overtook the last soldier. Before the man could even react, a javelin speared through his heart.
Suddenly, shrill ripples of sound swept in from the side. He failed to dodge—several arrow-shaped bullets sliced past.
With a swift twist of waist and legs, he darted forward like a fish, closing in on another soldier. In underwater combat, speed was everything.
This opponent was clearly more seasoned—the squad leader himself. He swiftly adjusted his stance, body upright, water gun aimed defensively before him.
The sight of the weapon made Li Zhui flinch. But he had no retreat left. Shielding his head with both arms, he charged.
Three shots rang out. Two arrowheads shredded his forearms, tearing jagged gashes down to the bone. The third bullet slammed into his right shoulder—it felt like a steel rod had been driven in, then twisted viciously.
The impact halted his momentum, sending him into a tumbling spin. The squad leader grinned and holstered his weapon, reaching behind his back for something else.
Too late.
Li Zhui's javelin had already pierced his heart.
Only four special ops remained. Two without masks clung to their air tanks, gasping for breath. The other two, armed with rifles, unleashed a hail of underwater fire when they saw their captain fall.
Long-barreled projectiles sliced through the water, but Li Zhui no longer feared them. He kicked off a wall, surging upward head-on.
Yes, the bullets tore into his flesh—but they could not kill him. And with their poor accuracy, most shots went wide.
The gunmen saw the tide turn. They dropped their weapons and fled.
Clenching the javelin between his teeth, Li Zhui pressed his arms to his sides and squeezed his legs tight, swimming with only his calves—minimizing drag.
The air tanks became burdens to the fleeing men. He caught up quickly. One strike each—two lives ended.
The final two reached the second hall. One, inspired by a flash of cinematic bravado, twisted open his tank valve for a desperate trick.
But reality has no script. He collided with a broken steel pipe—death came without even a goodbye.
The last man abandoned his tank and tried to flee free-diving.
Li Zhui was closing in, when a sudden surge of water struck him. He spun mid-swim to meet the threat.
Out of the shadows, a massive figure rocketed toward him—a giant lizard.
He struck with his javelin, but it bounced off the beast's armored skull. The creature lunged. He dodged—barely. Its jaws clamped down on his shoulder.
A jolt like electricity surged through his body. The twin fangs had injected venom.
The lizard locked its limbs around him and swam toward the exit.
His limbs stiffened. His heart faltered. His core spirit-being, the "spirit infant," flooded his system with adrenaline, but even its heart seemed to seize under the toxin's grip—after a few sluggish beats, it stopped.
The giant lizard, too, sensed it—its captive possessed not one, but two beating hearts. This revelation sent a thrill of excitement coursing through the beast. For in truth, it was no mere animal; every move it made was driven by human consciousness, piloted from within.
Like a miser discovering treasure, the lizard-creature was single-minded in its desire to drag Li Zhui back as a prize, seeking merit and acclaim. But it failed to notice the extraordinary metamorphosis unfolding within the body it sought to claim.
Just as despair threatened to consume Li Zhui, a strange sensation bloomed from within—a faint, almost imperceptible feeling of something gnawing at him. It grew rapidly in intensity, until it felt like a swarm of ants were sinking their fiery mandibles into his flesh.
Even more astonishing was what followed. With the searing pain spreading through his frame, dormant cells began to stir, returning to life as if thawed from a long winter sleep.
What could this be? Some hormone secreted by the spirit-infant sheath? Unlikely. He could sense them—these were no mere chemical compounds. These... were alive.
They were the mutated rabies virus.
For eighteen years, this deadly virus had slumbered within him. When the spirit-fetus fused with his body to form the infant-sheath, it had seemed as though the virus had been eradicated.
But that was a deception.
The infant-sheath had merely concealed the virus, hidden it away. Its mesenchymal cells could differentiate into unique engulfing cells, similar in form to phagocytes—capable of swallowing other cells, but not digesting them. Instead, they coexisted.
The toxin used by the lizard-creature was a potent neurotoxin, one that paralyzed not just Li Zhui's physical form, but the infant-sheath as well. With both hosts incapacitated, the virus—long suppressed—seized its moment.
It began by attacking the engulfing cells, then rapidly replicated and spread. This new strain had mutated further—unlike its predecessor, which only targeted neurons, this variant consumed all cells indiscriminately.
Li Zhui's original neural network, under viral assault, was the first to awaken—and then, to retaliate. But to deceive the creature, he used sheer will to suppress his body's reaction, feigning death by halting his heart.
Only once the infant-sheath had fully recovered, its own heart beginning to beat beyond his control, did he act. He drew a violent gasp of breath—and in that moment, his entire body erupted with a crackling volley of bone-snapping pops, like firecrackers in a blazing storm.
The lizard-creature recoiled in shock. This venom was said to paralyze elephants—and yet this prey had somehow overcome it!
Instinct screamed that it should release the man immediately. But greed, envy, and a festering hatred clouded its judgment. Instead, it resolved to take one more bite.
Its hands shifted from holding to gripping, stretching Li Zhui's limp body forward. Then it lowered its head and lunged, jaws parting wide, aiming to sink its teeth into the back of his neck.
At the precise instant the fangs sank into his flesh, both of Li Zhui's hearts contracted sharply, shrinking to half their size—only to swell the next moment to twice their normal volume, then collapse again in a vicious cycle of compression and expansion.
Driven by this violent dual-pump rhythm, the flow of blood surged to four times its usual rate. Every capillary in his body—whether belonging to his true form or the spirit-infant sheath—suddenly dilated, and each nerve cell sprang into heightened activity.
At the same time, the adrenal glands within the spirit-infant sheath unleashed a flood of adrenaline, pushing secretion to the brink. Li Zhui's physical systems were now hurtling toward critical mass; a single step further, and his body would quite literally rupture.
Ironically, the neurotoxin meant to paralyze him became a blessing in disguise—a coolant and stabilizer that prevented a fatal cardiac overload.
With a sudden jerk of his head, he smashed it upward into the lizard-creature's lower jaw. Simultaneously, his arms snaked backward through its armpits, looping over its back and crossing at the neck, locking the creature in a brutal chokehold—as though binding it with invisible ropes.
Next, his legs coiled upward and outward, entwining the creature's arms like twin serpents constricting their prey.
Ordinarily, the lizard's head and neck were fused into one seamless structure, its slippery skin making it impossible to grip—but it had met its match in Li Zhui.
Panic flooded the beast's intelligent, yet timid mind. Terrified, it thrashed wildly, twisting its body in desperate attempts to shake him off.
But Li Zhui had latched onto its upper torso—its weakest link. With a slight tightening of his hold, the lizard-creature's arm bones snapped one after another with sharp, cracking sounds.
A shrill scream tore from the beast as it rolled violently in the water, struggling with all its might to free itself.
After several frantic rolls, it seemed to regain a sliver of composure and launched a counterattack. It surged to the surface, coiling its body—and then whipped its powerful tail toward the spirit-infant sheath's heart.
The salamander-like body retained its sternum intact, and its skeletal structure was unique. Even under extreme calcium deficiency, its bones substituted collagen for calcium, making them supple yet resilient.
This flexible framework served as a living armor—but against the brutal strike of the lizard's tail vertebra, it was no match. With a sharp tearing sound, the tail pierced through as if ripping aged parchment.
The sheath's heart convulsed violently. The tailtip grazed the membrane, then drove straight into Li Zhui's true heart.
Blood gushed from his lips in a scarlet torrent as his body spasmed and recoiled into a tight coil—and then, all at once, a catastrophic force erupted outward.
With a crisp crack, the lizard-creature's cervical spine snapped in an instant. It didn't even have time to scream before its consciousness vanished into darkness.