Once upon a time, back when the world could only wage regular wars, there was that story of Teacher Yang helping Xiao Geng move at her school—I'm sure everyone still remembers it. And those Spartan super-evolved cockroaches in Chengdu, Sichuan—their size, their shine, their numbers, their viciousness, their sheer grossness—I'm sure you all remember those too. But the nastiest incident of all? I bet nobody knows about that one.
Let's skip the backstory. In short, one day Xiao Geng opened the dorm bathroom door, looked down, and saw a huge, fat, shiny black super-cockroach crawling around like it owned the place. Xiao Geng absolutely hated cockroaches with every fiber of her being, so when she saw this monster, her murderous intent shot through the roof, her rage practically summoned a thunderstorm. With a face full of shadow, she raised her roommate's slipper high, and with the speed of wind and thunder, she smashed it down hard.
Smack!
The slipper landed squarely on the cockroach's upper body—but then, out of its rear end, a bunch of baby cockroaches burst out!
Boom—a peal of thunder rolled past Xiao Geng's ears as she stood dumbstruck. What she'd just witnessed did massive psychological damage. She watched as the baby cockroaches scattered, each finding a crack in the tiles to hide in, while a stampede of alpacas rampaged through her mind. The story Yang Qi told about those stinky bugs on the Yantai coast flashed through her brain like a carousel. Xiao Geng was so grossed out that she couldn't eat for the rest of the day, moping all the way into the night.
But now, in the present—on the streets of London. No fiery explosions, no deafening blasts. When that twisted blur of light slammed into the Mercedes, the car silently warped, shattered, and disintegrated. Every metal part broke into fragments no bigger than a fingernail, flying through the air like a blizzard of steel. Even if Morpheus had no other powers, just the terrifying destructive force of his magic spear alone was enough to justify his top-three-hundred ranking on the Heavenly List.
If caught off guard, even other top-three-hundred Chosen Ones could be instantly taken out.
But the passengers in the Mercedes weren't instantly killed. The car, much like that mother cockroach from before, burst open at the back and several people popped out.
Crash! Amid the swirling steel fragments, four people—including 'Big Braid'—rolled out in a tumble. Orlando hit the ground flat on his back, 'Big Braid' spun like a top and crashed into a nearby bus, Jonathan did a backflip and staggered a couple steps before regaining his stance, and only Yang Qi, looking messy but actually pretty chill, rolled aside with ease.
All four passengers survived.
Morpheus the Gunslinger’s eyes looked like twin shadows in the night, but now, after seeing the result, a sharp glint flashed through those shadows. Click—he deftly flicked a pin on the gun’s stock, as if loading a bullet, and without hesitation pulled the trigger again in our direction.
“Ow... ow...” Orlando was still groaning and clutching his back on the ground when suddenly someone grabbed his shirt and hoisted him over their shoulder. Before he could scream, a distorted blur of light streaked past where he’d just been. Crash! Shattered steel fragments flew like snow again—Jonathan Black was already sprinting for his life, Orlando slung over his shoulder.
Jonathan Black wasn’t worried about Yang Qi, but right now he was seriously worried about his own skin. Morpheus’s firepower was just too much—if he took a direct hit, there was no way his body could handle it. Luckily, thanks to the earlier firefight, panicked Londoners had abandoned plenty of cars on the street. Jonathan darted between the shadows of the vehicles, grateful for the cover...
Click—soft but deadly. Jonathan’s blood ran cold, pupils shrunk to pinpoints.
Crash! The car beside him exploded into dust, a twisted ball of light and energy blasted straight for him. Jonathan roared, swung Orlando into the air, and dove flat to the ground. The terrifying blast wave skimmed his face, close enough to make your teeth chatter.
Click—Morpheus looked up and spotted the flailing professor flying through the air, finger curling on the trigger. But just then, a shadow whistled toward his back—a car seat hurled straight at him. Morpheus spun, squeezed the trigger, and—crash!—the seat shattered into flying metal flakes.
At the same time, Jonathan planted his feet, sprang with both knees, and dove out to catch the screaming Orlando midair. He clamped a hand over Orlando’s mouth to stifle his shriek, rolled with him, zigzagged three times in a split second, and finally dove behind a big truck.
When Morpheus turned back, all he saw were rows of silent cars—no sign of fleeing footsteps.
Thump, thump, thump—Jonathan crouched by the truck tire, heart pounding like a drum. His nose felt hot; he reached up and his hand came away bloody.
“Jason Bond, how’s it hanging?” Yang Qi slipped out of nowhere like a midnight sprite, suddenly appearing beside Jonathan.
“This guy’s firepower is insane. If I was alone, I’d handle him, but this old man’s just dead weight.” If Yang Qi hadn’t tossed that car seat and created an opening, Jonathan might not have made it out. “So, what’s the plan?” Jonathan eyed Yang Qi. “Are we wrapping this up?”
“A top-300 on the Heavenly Ranking—he’s a bit short of perfect, but this scene is pretty much maxed out.” Yang Qi thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, let’s wrap it up. But here’s a pop quiz: If you ditched the old man and it was just you, what would you do?”
“Depends how dumb he is and how many shots he’s got left. If he’s dumb enough to walk right up to me—”
Click—slow and steady, but the gun fired fast. Crash! A nearby car burst apart.
Click—Crash!—This time, the car that exploded was even closer!
Damn, not only is this guy not dumb, he’s sharp as hell—he’s not coming closer, he’s clearing the field one car at a time!
Metal shards flew like snow, but Yang Qi was still cool as a cucumber, guiding the rookie: “So, what about now?”
Jonathan gritted his teeth. “Clearing the field means he doesn’t know where I am—there’s still a slim chance. If he doesn’t have cannon fodder to scout for him...”
“Awooo—!” Several wolf howls echoed, and heavy footsteps thudded atop the truck. Jonathan looked up to see three werewolves, covered in black fur, poking their heads over the truck’s edge—six glowing green eyes locked onto him.
Damn! Speak of the devil!
“Roar—!” A blast of foul wind, and the three werewolves leapt, fangs gleaming, each aiming for one of the trio.
“Screw you!” Jonathan lashed out with a vicious kick, sending one werewolf flying into a car door with a loud crunch. At the same time, he looped his arm around another werewolf’s neck, knees hammering away at its kidneys like a pro athlete in a high-speed workout.
The werewolf’s kidneys caved in, but then—click—an ominous sound rang out. “FUCK!”
Crash! The truck’s body blew open, sending a shower of metal fragments sky-high. In the chaos, Jonathan had no time to finish off the werewolf—he bolted, battered and desperate.
Yang Qi jogged along with Orlando slung over her shoulder, not too fast, not too slow, while a werewolf chased them like mad. The beast went all out, but didn’t even graze her. Yang Qi looked frazzled but was actually having fun, calling out for help as she ran: “Jason Bond, save me! By the way—what about this situation? Still got it handled?”
“I got this!” Jonathan dove like a cannonball, landing square on the werewolf’s broad back. Thud—the beast crashed to the ground, face-first in the dirt. It howled and struggled, but Jonathan gave it no chance. Left hand clamped its head, right fist clenched with veins bulging, and with a roar he slammed a punch down—crack! The werewolf’s spine bent like a bow.
Panting hard, Jonathan felt a hot ache in his gut, but still refused to admit defeat: “These cannon-fodder werewolves are easy kills. As long as Morpheus doesn’t have another heavy-hitter on his team, I’m—”
“You’re the prophecy king today—everything you say comes true.” Yang Qi pointed behind him. “Look, isn’t that just perfect?”
Rumble—In that split second, a black battle wagon thundered up, radiating pure menace. Creak—the roof hatch popped open, and a two-meter-long heavy machine gun slid into view.
A hulking brute appeared at the gunner’s post, gripping the handles, eyes cold and cruel as he stared at the fleeing trio. Next to him stood Baldy, hands on the ammo belt—each bullet shimmered with restless power.
“Hmph, die already!” The brute laughed wickedly and yanked the trigger.
Boom, boom, boom! The heavy machine gun spat out over a thousand rounds per minute—not the fastest, but paired with Baldy’s power, it was earth-shaking. Each bullet was like a mini-bomb, and London’s streets instantly turned into a sea of explosions.