Amidst the intertwining smoke and fire, several silhouettes slowly emerged from the television station's entrance, led by the diminutive Etzel.
His black robe billowed amidst the raging flames, followed closely by his subordinates clad in armor of unidentifiable material. They wore no ballistic vests, no traditional military gear; they simply walked out in chilling silence.
"FIRE!"
A commander of the counter-terrorism unit roared, shattering the stillness instantly.
Gunfire erupted in a deafening torrent, dense firepower pouring down like thunder. Automatic rifles, shotguns, and assault rifles all unloaded upon the advancing enemy. The muzzle flashes illuminated the intruders, revealing several soul-chilling sights.
One of Etzel's men was struck squarely between the eyes. His head jerked from the impact, and a faint scorch mark appeared on his temple. Yet, he didn't even stumble. He merely frowned, adjusted his aim, and resumed firing—as if the gunshot were nothing more than a minor annoyance.
Another was blasted in the chest by a shotgun. His clothing shredded and fragments of his armor flew, but he only retreated half a step before lunging into the police lines. With a single palm strike, he crushed a soldier's head—helmet and all—into a visceral pulp of red and white.
As for Etzel—he stood amidst the warzone, elegantly brushing dust from his shoulder. Several bullets struck his chest, causing him to lean back slightly, yet his eyes only sparkled with a hint of newfound interest. Without haste, he raised his melting weapon and fired with cold composure.
Wei Xichen crouched in a corner of the convenience store, his fingers gripping the shelf so hard his knuckles turned white, his throat constricted as if by a noose. His sanity trembled on the edge of terror. He was witnessing the collapse of order and reality; the light of human civilization seemed pitifully fragile here.
But the horror was far from over.
Near a burning patrol car, the air abruptly began to shimmer. A blinding blue light seeped out from the flames, like a rift tearing through the fabric of the air. A low vibration groaned through the earth, and the entire street jolted as an invisible wave of pressure swept across the scene.
"Another rift...?" His eyes widened, his breath hitching.
From that blue light, figures encased in heavy exoskeletons filed out. These soldiers looked as if they had arrived from the future; their power armor appeared massive, yet they moved with agile grace. No expressions could be seen behind their visors—only a cold, metallic reflection. The beam rifles in their hands emitted a low-frequency hum, glowing with the brilliance of stored energy.
The moment these figures appeared, there was no warning, not even a word of dialogue.
They raised their rifles without hesitation, and blue beams poured down like a torrential rain, illuminating the night. Their attack lacked human tactics, possessing instead a mechanical efficiency and overwhelming suppression, pouring precision fire onto Etzel and his men.
In an instant, the street was plunged into a sea of fire once more. Bullets, energy beams, explosions, and screams blended into an apocalyptic symphony. Amidst the flames, the world seemed to be burning into dissolution.
And Wei Xichen remained huddled between the shattered glass and the cigarette counter, motionless, his eyes locked onto that rift. Though his body shook and his mind was near collapse, he knew he was watching the collision of two worlds.
—
As the explosions and gunfire outside clashed like thunder, Wei Xichen crouched behind the shelves, his body trembling uncontrollably. Cold sweat had long since soaked his collar, and his hand was pressed hard against his chest, every heartbeat feeling like a shockwave threatening to shatter him. He wanted to run. He truly did.
He could practically feel his leg muscles screaming: Run! Run now! But he couldn't move.
It was a profound, primal terror—not just of death, but of the unknown, of this catastrophe that transcaced reality. He felt himself being peeled away layer by layer, with sanity and madness separated only by a thin sheet of ice.
With a shaking hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the black hairpin—the Emotion Processor. He whispered to himself:
"Eighty percent repaired... it should be enough... I can't keep hiding here. I'll die! I'll die! I'll die!"
He needed to be clear-headed. At the very least, he needed to be able to move. Even if it was just to take a single step forward.
The moment he clipped the hairpin behind his ear, a faint blue light flickered, like a cold finger brushing against his brain. His breathing leveled out instantly. The stiffness in his limbs receded, and a sudden, hollow calm settled over his heart. The storm within ceased, leaving only silence.
The fear vanished. He could think again. He could even hear the rhythm of his own heartbeat slowing down.
But in the next second, a tiny spark hissed from deep within the hairpin—a short circuit. The blue light died instantly, replaced by an ominous red glow that pulsed in his ear like a mechanical heartbeat, growing faster and hotter.
Wei Xichen frowned, his gaze turning alien. He remained calm—even calmer than before. But this calm was no longer a state of neutral thought; it was a state of obsessed fixation. He felt something deep within him being magnified, bloated.
His logic, his judgment, his craving for the "truth," and his paranoia toward the unknown... he was no longer afraid. He wanted to know what all of this was, who brought it, how it happened, and if it could... be understood.
He stood up. No more hesitation, no more hiding. He walked straight toward the burning street.
The explosions, the gunfire, and the screams felt as though they were muffled by a wall of glass. He no longer truly "heard" them, nor "felt" them. Only a voice in his mind whispered over and over:
"See it clearly! Understand it! Get closer to the center of the change!"
Suddenly, a shriek tore through the air. A green projectile ripped through the thick smoke, spiraling toward him with an eerie trail of flame.
The shell seemed alive; its metallic hull oozed a viscous liquid with a grotesque sheen, emitting a stench like a rotting swamp. Even more bizarre was that it was speaking.
"I want to eat guts... give me your spleen and liver—!"
The voice was distorted, like a creature from hell, dripping with slimy hunger. The projectile drew closer, trailing a miasma of green smoke.
Wei Xichen did not stop. He stared directly at the shell, his eyes as vacant and hollow as an empty shell.
At that exact moment, a figure lunged from the side like a bolt of lightning, tackling him to the asphalt. The world jolted, and time seemed to be violently yanked back into reality.
Finally, he heard the real sounds again—the explosions, the screams, and the furious roar of the person who had saved him.
—
"Are you insane?! Why didn't you find cover?!"
The voice exploded in his ear, laced with intense terror and fury.
Wei Xichen lay on the ground where he'd been tackled, his head still ringing. He blinked, his vision locking onto a pair of familiar, angry eyes—it was Yuan Liheng. His colleague, the brilliant engineer from Yuan's Heavy Industries. And... the woman he had never been able to forget.
"Liheng...?" He stammered, his throat bone-dry. "What are you doing here?"
This was the last place she should be. Not here, not in this nightmare of smoke and fire, not at the epicenter of a chaotic war.
She didn't answer immediately. She knelt beside him, her breathing ragged. Her eyes held too many things at once—panic, anxiety, regret—and an emotion hidden too deep for too long, surging beneath the surface like a turbulent, unstoppable flood.
Her mouth opened as if to speak, but the words caught in her throat. For a heartbeat, her gaze screamed a message to him in total silence, as if the world had frozen, leaving only the two of them entangled in an unresolvable stare.
Then, a massive beam of white light tore through the atmosphere—
BOOM!!!
An optical main cannon, carrying a heatwave like a sunburst, swept across the battlefield. It illuminated the entire scene in an instant, reflecting the shared terror in their pupils.
In the moment the light struck, he only had time to turn his head toward her. Then, everything began to collapse.
It was a high-thermal disintegration beam. It pierced through their bodies, deconstructing them into microscopic particles. Wei Xichen felt his skin melt like wax, his bones dismantling inch by inch, his nerves trembling in the agony of the sear.
His world was crumbling, yet his mind remained unnervingly clear—too clear.
Yuan Liheng was still beside him, her silhouette being devoured by the light just as fast as his, but his eyes never left her. He knew—had she not lunged at him, he would have been blown to pieces by that green shell long ago.
She had saved him. Or rather, she had joined him in death.
Guilt rose from the depths of his soul like an abyss, suffocating him. He should have retreated long ago, yet for the sake of that morbid craving—to understand, to see the truth—he had dragged her into this irreversible catastrophe.
He looked at her face—that face, usually so resolute and gentle, now twisted by fear and helplessness. Her lips were pressed tight, then parted slightly, soundlessly forming three syllables:
"I'm sorry."
The image was like a needle driven straight into his heart.
Wei Xichen tried to reach out for her, but his hand no longer existed. His arm had vanished into the light, erased from existence. He couldn't even feel his own presence anymore; only the final remnants of his consciousness lingered.
"Liheng..."
He murmured, but no sound came out.
His vision blurred rapidly amidst the agonizing heat. The world around him disintegrated like scorched paper. Light became the final color—searing, merciless, a judgment that devoured all.
Before being swallowed by the void, only one image remained in his mind: Yuan Liheng, her mouth moving as she spoke to him. And that sentence she never got to finish—the words he would never hear.
After the brilliance, there was only darkness. Only regret and obsession remained, clutched tightly within the shards of his broken consciousness.
—