Ten seconds.
That's all the time left above Ethan Cross's head—his final countdown.
A minute ago, he would've waited to die.
But now?
The hand gripping the Glock trembled, but his eyes burned fiercer than a wolf's.
**[System Alert: Fatal crisis detected.]**
**[Consume 50% remaining lifespan to activate talent [Weakness Insight (Trial Version)]?]**
"Do it!"
Ethan screamed internally.
*About to die anyway—why save scraps?*
**Buzz—!**
The world stuttered, draining to black and white.
Those invisible "death lines" now crisscrossed the air like blood-red lasers.
Above Hunter A's head, a pale holographic skull counted down:
**[Death Countdown: 03 seconds]**
**[Cause: Heavy object penetration]**
Ethan jerked his gun upward.
Not aiming at the man—at a rusted, wobbling screw in the ceiling.
Hunter A spotted Ethan, lips curving in a death-watching sneer as his finger found the trigger.
"Goodbye, little trash."
*BANG!*
Ethan fired first.
The bullet sparked, precisely snapping that screw.
"Missed?" Hunter A's cold smile froze.
Next second, teeth-grinding metal fracture sounds echoed overhead.
*CRASH—!!!*
A half-ton steel ceiling panel thundered down like swatting a fly, smashing Hunter A straight through the floorboards!
Blood mixed with pulp oozed from the steel plate's gaps.
No chance to even scream.
Hunter B went completely blank.
*Accident? Coincidence?*
In that 0.1-second daze, Ethan rolled, adrenaline maxed, gripping his gun with both hands and pulling the trigger like a rabid dog.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
First shot missed. Second exploded his shoulder in blood spray. Third—
*Splurt!*
Bullet punched through his throat, spraying crimson mist.
Hunter B clutched his neck, gurgling, life rapidly fading from his eyes as that "40 years" above his head plummeted.
"Don't die too fast—that's my money!"
Ethan lunged, death-gripping Hunter B's ankle with greedy demon eyes.
"Give it here!"
**[Forced transaction executing...]**
**[Sizzle—]**
Golden streams pumped from Hunter B's body like a siphon, drilling into Ethan's arm.
Two seconds later, a mummified corpse hit the floor.
**[Plunder successful!]**
**[Lifespan gained: 38 years, 05 months, 12 days]**
**[Dropped fate: Firearms Mastery (White) auto-equipped]**
Ethan collapsed, gasping.
He looked up.
**38:05:12:00**
Green.
Most beautiful color he'd ever seen.
*Clap, clap, clap.*
Crisp applause echoed through the death-silent car.
Ethan whipped his gun up, barrel locked on the corner.
The girl with the broken leg.
She leaned against the wall, that previously 90-degree twisted limb now visibly "cracking" back into place until perfectly straight.
"Faking it?" Ethan's pupils contracted.
"How else do you lure out these scavengers without breaking a leg?"
Lyra Vane emerged from shadows, blood-stained face unable to hide her ice-cold beauty.
Especially her right eye—golden pupil with clock hands faintly turning inside.
Eerie yet sacred.
She held a mirror-black metal card between two fingers, flicking it like a blade into the floor beside Ethan's feet.
"Take it. You're the second person in this city who can see countdowns."
Ethan didn't pick up the card, staring at her. "Who are you?"
"Lyra Vane. Or... if you don't want to die clueless."
Lyra brushed back blood-matted hair, tone casual as discussing dinner plans. "Your mom doesn't have a disease—she's been 'marked' by those higher-dimensional things. It's a signal that the livestock is ripe."
Ethan's heart clenched. "What do you mean? You know how to save her?!"
"Go to that address."
Lyra turned toward the tunnel's black depths, silhouette melting into darkness.
"Want to save her? First learn not to sell yourself cheap, rookie."
...
*2 AM. Old district, dead-end alley.*
Even stray cats avoided this place.
Ethan stood before a mahogany door with a crooked sign reading:
**Pawnshop No. 13**
He pushed inside.
*"Ding-a-ling—"*
Not a welcome chime—more like summoning bells.
No lights inside, but thousands of clocks hung everywhere.
*Tick, tick, tick...*
Countless second hands created a massive sound wave that crushed the breath from his lungs.
"Yo, new shopkeeper's here?"
A translucent old man floated behind the counter, wearing Qing Dynasty robes and rolling two eyeball-like walnuts in his palm.
*Ghost?*
After the subway incident, Ethan barely felt surprised. He walked straight over. "Lyra Vane sent me."
"I know—that's the boss lady... *cough*, that's a regular customer."
Old Graves floated over, slamming a brick-thick black ledger on the table.
"I'm Old Graves, former shopkeeper. Since the system chose you, this shop's yours now."
Graves pointed to the first page, grinning with gap-toothed malice.
"As heir, check out your 'inheritance' first."
Ethan opened it.
The first line was blood-red, still dripping ink:
**[Current debt: 100 years lifespan]**
**[Creditor: Underworld (Fengdu Branch)]**
**[Repayment deadline: 23:59:59]**
**[Overdue consequence: Host termination]**
Ethan's hand froze.
*The 38 years I just grabbed won't even fill half this hole?*
"Playing me?" He slammed the book shut. "Can I just not be shopkeeper?"
"Sure." Graves made a throat-slitting gesture. "Exit left to Ghost Gate, or wait 24 hours for system execution. Pick one—very fair."
Ethan: "..."
*Fair my ass.*
*This is kidnapping!*
*"Ding-a-ling—"*
The door chimes exploded again.
This time what rushed in wasn't wind—it was nauseating blood stench so thick you could taste it.
A man in a designer trench coat entered.
Sunglasses off, revealing blood-red vertical pupils.
Corpse-pale skin, razor-black nails, radiating an aura of decay and luxury.
**Vampire.**
The real deal.
No small talk—he slammed a briefcase on the counter.
*BANG!*
It popped open, revealing neat stacks of one million dollars, blindingly green.
"Heard this place deals in death and life."
His voice scraped like sandpaper, dripping arrogant superiority.
"Money's no object. Give me 100 years of 'sunlight immunity.'"
"I want to hunt in daylight."
Ethan glanced at the man's overhead display.
**[Gold Name: Vampire Prince]**
**[Remaining lifespan: 520 years]**
**[Current status: Desperately craves sunlight]**
*Big fat sheep.*
Problem was, the shelves were empty. Where would he get sunlight immunity?
If he refused, this vampire wouldn't mind an extra meal.
Just as Ethan's fingertips sweated, his mind chimed:
**[Ding! High-value desire detected.]**
**[Triggering merchant scheme: Consume 30 years lifespan + 1 perfect lie = [Pseudo-Sunlight Immunity (30-day duration)]]**
*30-year cost to sell to this guy?*
*And lie to him?*
*If exposed, I'll be shredded.*
Ethan stared at that cash-filled case, his expression shifting.
Fear receded, replaced by gambler's madness.
*Since I'm dead either way, might as well go big.*
*Snap.*
Ethan expressionlessly closed the money-stuffed case and pushed it back.
"Take your waste paper."
The vampire's eyes narrowed, fangs slightly bared, killing intent instantly locking onto Ethan's throat. "Not enough?"
"No."
Ethan sat in the high-backed chair, fingers interlaced under his chin, glasses reflecting cold light.
*He was gambling—betting this vampire's sunlight craving overwhelmed all reason.*
"In this pawnshop, we don't accept dead things."
Ethan pointed at the vampire's heart, lips curving in a cruel smile.
"Want to walk under the sun? Fine."
"I don't take money. I want half your... immortality."