"Why are you doing this to me?!"
This roar no longer sounded human; layered with the background of a rat's high-pitched squeaks, it felt like a soul being torn apart in the deepest pits of hell, vibrating through the very air.
In the virtual livestream, Zhu Yulu—designated as A-0002 and trapped in the form of a white rat—twisted her body violently. But the four arrows piercing her limbs locked "it" firmly to the upright miniature pillars.
In those crimson eyes, the former arrogance, refinement, and hypocrisy had long vanished, replaced by a hysterical breakdown. Her bulging eyeballs, combined with the blood-stained rodent body, gave off the terrifying aura of a demonic pet from the underworld.
Furthermore, the right camera suddenly zoomed in on the rat's head. Its mouth hung slightly open, continuously dripping saliva mixed with blood—a sight that was truly horrifying.
"I only killed a few brutes! I have money! I can pay for them, can't I? I have plenty of money! Why use this method... AHHH!!!"
The answer given was not mercy, but a pair of slender, pale, and delicate hands on the left screen slowly drawing a longbow.
Every arrow shot toward the rat would pass through a mysterious spatial tunnel, automatically shrinking until the proportions were correct.
Through Zhu Yulu's perspective, it looked as though giant, nuclear-sized bolts were tearing through the sky toward her. Even knowing they would shrink, her soul trembled every time a tip approached, and her frantic struggling only made the blood flow faster.
On the left side of the screen, a Labrador puppy not even a month old was tied to a tree trunk.
The hands before it moved unhurriedly, plucking a cold, hard, black alloy arrow from a quiver. Nocking the arrow, drawing the bow—the string bent like a full moon.
"Whiz—Thwack."
This shot missed, thudding into the tree trunk.
An impatient "Tsk" followed the image. The young woman stepped forward to the struggling puppy and forcefully yanked out the stray arrow.
"Honestly, even a little brute like you dares to bark at me? Can't you see I'm annoyed because I only placed second?"
Before the words had even faded, she slammed the arrow manually into the puppy's body. The pup instinctively tried to dodge, but bound tightly, it had nowhere to run. The arrow accurately pierced the bone of its hind leg.
"Awooo—!"
The tender, tragic wail instantly pierced the eardrums of billions of viewers worldwide. The perpetrator simply turned and walked away calmly, forming a gruesome contrast with the agonizing Zhu Yulu on the other screen.
The white rat, Zhu Yulu, felt an indescribable agony.
Divine power had magnified "its" pain receptors a thousand-fold. This wasn't a momentary burst of pain but a sustained torment. She could feel the metal arrowhead crushing her nerves, every fiber feeling as though it were soaked in molten iron.
"Ah... ah..."
Due to the constant screaming, Zhu Yulu was visibly exhausted. But under the forced maintenance of divine power, "it" could not faint or go into shock. She remained conscious, counting the vibration of every single arrow as it entered her flesh.
This was the Beast God's judgment—forcing you to experience every sin you committed in a state of absolute clarity.
Suddenly, "Swoosh—!" A specialized alloy arrow sliced through the air.
"Ooh, a bullseye!"
The screen bounced up and down with the girl's joyful hopping. Simultaneously, the needle-thin but incredibly hard proportional arrow on the right screen pierced the very center of the white rat's skull at the exact same millisecond.
"CRACK."
That was the sound of bone shattering.
Like the puppy on the neighboring screen, Zhu Yulu didn't even have time to let out a full wail. Only a broken half-syllable escaped her throat before her gaze began to scatter.
Her wide eyes were filled with a desperate attachment to the world and an unwillingess to let go of her ebbing life.
"This arrow is named 'Catharsis'. The Goddess remembers every heartbeat and movement you made when you shot that stray dog. Is it that in your world, only first place is your goal, while these lives are merely disposable materials for venting the shame of being 'second'?"
Qinghong's voice, cold and laced with hidden fury, echoed through the void, vibrating in every corner of the livestream.
—[That wasn't... a stray... that was the puppy born to my Rose. It had little spots on its paw pads, it's him... (Wailing)]
This comment was seen by many. But those left watching the stream now were either busy saving their own pets, die-hard fans in denial, or bystanders who felt the matter didn't concern them.
Qinghong glanced at the message and let out a weary sigh. "My condolences."
Her voice then turned bone-chillingly cold. "You may not remember, but the arrows do. Every inch of their trajectory through the freezing wind has left a brand upon their souls."
On the left screen, the puppy's body was being riddled with arrows, blood blooming across its fur like red spider lilies. The image rippled like water and shifted to a small yellow dog in a different kennel.
On the right, Zhu Yulu's tiny, hedgehog-like frame—bristling with steel needles—instantly reverted to pristine white, becoming a soft, pink-fleshed white rat once more.
This sight plunged the world into a state of morbid, physiological revulsion.
The fans who had previously defended Zhu Yulu were now retching into plastic bags, toilets, or sinks. The comment section displayed a bizarre, fractured reality:
—[Just got back from the North District Sports Center. The 'Guardians' there are literally miraculous. My Ragdoll cat is out of danger; the doctor said as long as it doesn't hear that devilish audio again, it will slowly recover (Praying)]
—[Thank the Beast God... I just received a special "Healing Spray" at the East Lake Community Center. Watching those who used to support Lolo repenting there, I don't feel happy at all, just terrified (Praying)]
—[Praying... I hope these little lives survive, and I hope the world recovers soon (Praying)]
—[Wait, can someone explain to a clueless person like me—what are 'Guardians'?]
—[Seconded (Please)! And I just ran into a group of people in black uniforms on the street. They all had glowing green collar tattoos on their necks. It looked cool but... also really scary (Scared)]
Amidst the warm pleas and gratitude, a few lines of dark gray text caught everyone's eye:
—[Those are the 'Guardians'. I asked one of them; he said they are the marked ones who need to reform, now drafted into the 'Restoration Sequence' by the Beast God. Though I don't really understand what the 'Restoration Sequence' is...]
—[I know! I asked. They have no salary, no holidays. Their only purpose is to clean up nuclear pollution, clear sewers, and rescue species dying due to human greed...]
—[But the way they work... they don't even seem human... more like precision machines with pre-set programs...]
This newly emerged social class put unprecedented pressure on national leaders hidden in high-altitude jets or deep underground bunkers.
"Chief, it seems the public has noticed the existence of the 'Guardians'. How should we handle this?" To let them be or to take action? This was the consensus needed.
The Elder of the Long Nation tapped the table with his wrinkled fingertips, stating his decision: "Ignore them for now. Our priority is reclaiming the 'Right to Interpret' nature. As for the 'Guardians', we remain still to observe the changes."
Bald Eagle Nation, Underground Level 7 Strategic Room.
The President stared grimly at the high-definition satellite images sent by the CIA. "Is it confirmed?"
"Confirmed, sir. According to our assets in Green Pheasant Country and energy fluctuation monitoring on the Long Nation border, the target 'A-0001Original'—the lab rat in Sato's skin—has confirmed entry into the Long Nation and is currently on the move."
The CIA Director pointed at the figure on the screen rubbing his nose. "He isn't just the first 'Exchanger'; his genome likely carries the primordial code of the Beast God's reality-warping power. If we capture him, the success rate of Project Olympus increases by 40%."
The President's fingers drummed on the black alloy table, producing a dull thud. "And the Long Nation's attitude?"
"They are providing 'Silent Escort'," the Secretary of Defense spat. "Our scouts tried to get close, but before they could make contact, they were intercepted by local 'Guardians' and Long Nation SWAT. The Chief's message was clear: this is 'his right,' and no one shall interfere."
"Rights? You're telling me a brute has rights?" The President sneered, his voice dripping with hegemonic arrogance. "That superstitious nonsense won't save civilization. If the Long Nation wants it all for themselves, recall the diplomats and issue a final ultimatum."
"Tell them we demand a 'Joint Bio-Security Investigation'. If they don't hand over Sato, our 'Rods from God' satellite wouldn't mind testing gravitational acceleration in the southwestern mountains before coming home."
This traditional logic of hegemony seemed both pathetic and insane in this moment. They were attempting to use the iron of the old era to shackle the soul of the new.
Long Nation, Southwestern Border, an old residential compound.
Two Guardians clad in black, their necks glowing with a faint, eerie green light, respectfully opened the door of the business van. Zhizhi, the tiny soul trapped within Sato's skin, stepped out of the vehicle with a sense of unease.
He looked up at the familiar apartment building. He remembered how Tian Shuangxin used to place his tiny body on her shoulder, strolling leisurely through the complex.
To avoid scaring the neighbors or children, they had always chosen the early dawn or sunset. The sunlight, the breeze, the scent of flowers... everything filled him with an intense longing.
The tiles on the exterior walls had mostly peeled away, and the flowerbeds below, once filled with drooping, withered roses, were now blooming with an unnatural brilliance in the post-rain morning—as if welcoming something home.
"Lord Zhizhi, this is your 'home'," a Guardian reminded him in a low voice behind him.
Zhizhi's heart raced. This human shell felt heavy, and it brought with it a tangled mess of complex emotions he had never experienced before.
He climbed the stairs step by step, each one evoking memories of being cradled in Tian Shuangxin's arms as she whispered soft words to him in the stairwell. Back then, his world was only as large as a cage; now, the world was vast, yet he only wanted to shrink back into that tiny sanctuary.
He arrived.
On the dark security door, a tattered "Fu" (Blessing) character from last year's Spring Festival still clung to the metal.
Zhizhi reached out to turn the handle, only to find it locked. He tried knocking, his fingertips trembling from nerves, but after a long wait, there was no sound from within.
Just as anxiety began to spread, he suddenly remembered the spare key hidden behind the mailbox. He had seen TianShuangxin hide it there multiple times when he was perched on her shoulder, watching silently as she fumbled after forgetting her keys.
Back then, he couldn't touch that key to happiness; now, he was tall, strong, and possessed Sato's dexterity. He knew how to grip the key, and he knew how to open this door.
"Click."
The door opened.
Dust swirled in the shafts of sunlight. There was no aroma of cooking, no noise from the television, and most importantly, no warm embrace smelling of mild soap.
"Mama... isn't here?"
Zhizhi wandered through the living room in a daze.
On the sofa lay the small, pilled cloth ball—his favorite toy from before. He slowly knelt, his fingertips touching the lingering fuzz, and his eyes instantly reddened.
At that moment, a Guardian standing by the door saw the collar behind his ear pulse with green light.
"Lord Zhizhi, the 'Hive' has located Ms. TianShuangxin through the city-wide surveillance. She is currently at People's Hospital, and her mother's condition seems to have... changed."
Zhizhi snapped to his feet. "I need to go to the hospital! Now!"
But as he reached the doorway, he suddenly froze. He looked down at his hands—large, with prominent knuckles, still carrying the cold, sterile aura of the laboratory.
—If she sees me... if she sees this murderer's face... will she be afraid? Will she think that I am the one who killed the real 'Zhizhi'?
This fear of "homecoming" was more agonizing than any physical pain he had endured on the dissection table.
"Let us go, Lord," the Guardian said, seemingly reading his hesitation with a trace of mechanical objectivity. "Since the thought has crossed your mind, act upon it. If you do not, how will you know the outcome?"