The night, which had been a cacophony of screams, snarls, and cracking glass, fell into a sudden, terrifying silence.
The ten dogs in the pack, as one, froze.
Their crimson-glowing eyes, which had been filled with a feral, blood-mad rage, all swiveled. They turned from the screaming, downed BSA guards. They turned from the terrified, trapped students behind the glass.
They all, in a single, unified, predatory instinct, locked onto the new figure in the shadows.
Lin Hao stood on the grass, a hundred feet away. He was a statue, a figure of pure, primal wrongness.
He was bare-chested, his cargo pants and skin caked in the thick, black, tar-like grime of his [Level 6: Marrow Cleansing]. He was a thing born of earth and shadow, and he smelled powerful. He smelled like a challenge.
The pack leader, the scruffy terrier that was now a 70-pound wolf-like monster, bared its bloody fangs. A growl, deeper and more menacing than any sound a dog should make, rumbled from its chest. This was its territory. This was its kill.
Lin Hao, in turn, looked at the ten mutated dogs, and he felt... disgusted.
This was the problem with the new world. It was messy. It was inefficient.
He was standing here, caked in his own foul, purged filth. He was starving, his purified body a furnace demanding fuel. He was annoyed, his perfect, sacred ritual of the Midnight Gain interrupted. He had 450 UP burning a hole in his metaphysical pocket, and he was supposed to be at his warehouse right now, finally upgrading his "Mortal Root."
Instead, he was here, playing zookeeper to a pack of rabid, over-evolved pests.
He could kill them. All of them. In an instant.
He didn't need a weapon. A flick of his finger, a single pulse of his [Level 5: Blood Vitality] Qi... he could make their heads explode like overripe melons. A single, open-palmed [Level 6]-enhanced push would turn the pack leader into a red mist. It would be effortless. It would be clean.
He began to take a step, his mind already calculating the minimal energy required.
And then he saw them.
He lifted his gaze from the pack, past the library doors, and up.
The library was three stories high, all glass. The dorms across the quad were six stories.
And in every window, he saw them. Small, bright, unwavering lights.
Dozens of them.
Smartphone cameras.
Every student, every trapped professor, every terrified witness who was not on the ground was recording. They were all live-streaming this. He wasn't in a dark, forgotten, witness-free alley.
He was on a stage.
He was surrounded by hundreds of cameras, all broadcasting his every move to the new, paranoid, power-hungry world.
A cold, different kind of realization washed over him.
He couldn't kill them efficiently.
If he, a "random student," walked out of the shadows and, with a wave of his hand, vaporized ten mutated monsters that had just taken down two armed BSA guards, he wouldn't be a hero.
He would be a specimen.
The news of his power would be on Elder Chen's desk before the bodies of the dogs were cold. He wouldn't be celebrated; he would be hunted. The BSA, the hidden families, the government... they would descend on him, not with a recruitment offer, but with a dissection table. They would tear him apart to find the source of his power, to find out how a 20-year-old student had surpassed their Level 4 "pinnacle" in three days.
His hidden life, his new warehouse foundation, his entire exponential plan... it would all be over.
"No." The word was a cold, sharp whisper to himself.
He was a planner. He was a hidden boss. He had to act.
He had to perform.
He had to pretend to be a "newly Awakened" hero. A brave, stupid, and believable student who had just discovered his power. A Level 1, maybe a high-end Level 2, just like the ones on the news.
This couldn't be an execution. It had to be a struggle. It had to be messy. It had to look hard.
Grrrrrrrowl.
The pack leader, misinterpreting his stillness as hesitation, made its move. It lowered its head, its crimson eyes burning holes in the night.
It charged.
It was a 70-pound blur of mutated muscle, claws, and fangs, crossing the quad in a silent, deadly sprint. It was coming to rip his throat out.
Lin Hao saw it coming. In his [Level 6]-enhanced senses, the "charge" was a predictable, clumsy, slow-motion lope.
He had seconds to prepare his "prop."
He was standing at the base of the wide, concrete steps that led to the library entrance. A thick, two-inch, stainless-steel handrail ran down the center, bolted deep into the concrete.
It was perfect.
It was a flashy, impressive, and, most importantly, believable feat of "Awakened" strength. A Level 1 couldn't do it. But a desperate, adrenaline-fueled Level 2 "Adept"... just might.
"I have to make this look hard," he muttered to the night air.
He turned his body, his bare feet planting on the grass. He consciously shut down his Level 5 and 6 internal power. He relied only on the raw, brute, "External" strength of his [Level 2: Muscle Weaving] and [Level 3: Tendon Connection].
As the dog closed, now just thirty feet away, Lin Hao acted.
He grabbed the cold, steel handrail with both hands.
He let out a loud, theatrical, guttural grunt. The kind of sound a mortal powerlifter would make. He bent his knees, his muscles bunching in a visible, believable way.
"HRRNGH!"
He pulled.
He put just enough of his real, [Level 4: Bone Forged] strength into it to get the job done.
CRACK!
The steel groaned in protest. The sound of tearing metal was a high-pitched scream.
KRR-BOOM!
The concrete anchors, which were designed to withstand a car crash, exploded upward in a shower of gray dust and pebble-sized shrapnel.
With a final, terrible RRRIP, Lin Hao tore the entire five-foot section of the handrail free from its moorings.
It was a thick, heavy, blunt-force club, with a jagged, broken concrete base.
The charging dog, startled by the explosive noise and the sudden, impossible display of strength, skidded to a halt. It landed ten feet away, its claws tearing up the grass, its head lowered, snarling in confusion.
This new, half-naked, filthy creature... it fought back.
In the library, the sobbing stopped. Su Yun and Fatty Zhang stared through the cracked glass, their eyes wide with a new, impossible hope.
Lin Hao, his chest heaving, acting, breathing hard, making it look like a struggle, swung the new "club" in his hand. It was clumsy. It was mortal-heavy. It was perfect.
He pointed the jagged, broken end of the rail at the stunned pack leader. He turned his head just enough for his voice to carry to the library, to the cameras.
He yelled, his voice not the cold, calm command of a cultivator, but the raw, believable, adrenaline-fueled roar of a desperate hero.
"GET BACK!"