The pack leader, a 70-pound monster of mutated muscle and red-eyed rage, had charged.
It had skidded to a halt, stunned by the explosive, impossible sound of Lin Hao ripping a five-foot steel rail from the concrete ground.
For a split second, the campus was silent. The screams from the library, the groans from the downed BSA guards, the wail of distant sirens, it all faded. There was only the low, guttural growl of the pack leader, and the heavy, theatrical panting of Lin Hao.
He was on stage. The cameras were rolling.
"GRRRR..."
The leader's growl was the signal. The remaining nine dogs, their feral instincts overpowering their brief confusion, fanned out. They split into two groups, a pincer movement, their claws clicking on the pavement as they began to circle him, cutting off his retreat.
Lin Hao widened his stance. He hefted the heavy, jagged-ended rail. To his [Level 6]-enhanced body, it felt as light as a cardboard tube. He had to act.
He forced his muscles to look strained. He let his knees "buckle" slightly under the weight. He let out another loud, adrenaline-fueled grunt, swinging the rail in a "practice" arc, making it look clumsy and unwieldy.
"Get... get back!" he roared. It was a perfect performance of a terrified, newly-Awakened student, running on nothing but adrenaline and newfound, uncontrolled Level 2 "Adept" strength.
The act was convincing. The dogs, seeing him as a clumsy, shouting, and slow threat, lunged.
Three of them came from the left flank, a blur of red eyes and matted fur.
Lin Hao saw them coming. In his syrupy, slow-motion perception, he saw every detail: which one was leading, where its weight was, the arc of its leap.
He swung.
He made the swing slow. It was a wide, telegraphed, desperate baseball-bat swing. He put just enough force into it to look powerful, but he intentionally mistimed it.
The first dog, the fastest, was already inside his arc. It leaped, its jaws wide, aiming for his exposed, grime-covered shoulder.
This was it. The "graze."
RRIP!
The sound was a sickening, wet tear. The dog's [Level 1]-enhanced fangs, sharp as razors, clamped down on his shoulder.
Lin Hao felt it. It was like a high-speed file grating across a steel plate. The fangs slid, skidded, and scraped against his [Iron Skin], failing to find purchase, failing to draw a single drop of his blood.
But he acted.
"GRAAAH!" he roared, a genuine-sounding scream of pain and rage. The dog's own bloody muzzle, combined with the black, caked-on grime, was more than enough to sell the illusion. To the hundreds of cameras, it looked like a devastating, flesh-tearing bite.
The dog, confused, its jaw aching from the impact on an unyielding surface, tried to pull back.
But the second dog was already in the air.
And Lin Hao's "clumsy" swing was just now completing its arc.
THWACK!
The jagged, concrete-covered end of the steel rail connected, not with the first dog, but with the second one, right in its ribcage.
Lin Hao had infused the blow with the barest wisp of his Qi. Not enough to cause an explosion, just enough to amplify the blunt-force trauma a thousand times.
The sound was a wet, heavy, final sound, like a sack of concrete being dropped from a ten-story building. The dog's entire ribcage didn't just break; it disintegrated. The animal was dead before it hit the ground, not in a red mist, but in a crumpled, broken heap. A perfectly "believable" kill.
From inside the library, he heard a new scream. "Oh my god! He's hurt!"
His performance was a success.
The first dog, the one that had "bitten" him, was still trying to find purchase. Lin Hao, in his "rage," slammed it with the butt-end of the rail, a "clumsy" shove that sent it tumbling.
The other dogs, enraged by the death of their packmate, all charged at once.
What followed was a boring, technical exercise, choreographed for a terrified audience.
To the students watching from their windows, it was the most heroic, desperate battle they had ever seen. The lone, half-naked, grime-covered student was a primal warrior, a Level 2 "Adept" barely holding on against an overwhelming tide. He was grunting, he was "sweating" (he was forcing the moisture from his pores), he was "stumbling."
SWING! He'd miss. CLANG! A dog would slam into the rail, getting knocked back. THUD! He'd "clumsily" butt-stroke another, sending it yelping.
But to Lin Hao, it was just... work. Swing. Calculate. 0.5% Qi. THWACK. (Another one down, broken spine. Believable.) Block. 1.0% Qi. CRUNCH. (Another one down, crushed skull. Believable.) Stumble. Spin. 0.75% Qi. SMASH. (Another one down, shattered hips. Believable.)
He was an artist, painting a masterpiece of mediocrity. In two minutes, it was a massacre, but a believable one. The library steps were littered with the broken, un-exploded bodies of nine mutated dogs.
He was panting, his shoulders heaving, the "gash" on his shoulder looking gruesome in the strobing red-and-blue lights.
Only the pack leader was left.
It was standing twenty feet away, its crimson eyes burning, its chest heaving in a low, continuous snarl. It was smart. It had let its packmates die, and now it was watching him.
The library doors behind him finally gave way.
KRR-SHRAAANK!
The main glass panel, spiderwebbed and cracked, collapsed inward in a waterfall of shattered safety glass.
Su Yun and Fatty Zhang screamed, huddled by the printer.
"NOW!" Lin Hao roared, turning and pointing the rail at them. "GET IN! GET THROUGH!"
Fatty Zhang, his face a mask of terror, grabbed Su Yun's arm and hauled her up. "HE'S RIGHT! GO! GO!"
They scrambled, climbing over the printer, stumbling through the broken, empty doorframe into the library's main lobby. Su Yun, her ankle twisting, fell. Fatty hauled her back up. They were inside. They were safe.
Lin Hao, the "heroic" guardian, stood at the broken threshold, his back to them, facing the final monster.
He was "exhausted." He was "bleeding." He was "alone."
He hefted the heavy, blood-soaked rail, preparing for the final, one-on-one duel.
And then, he fumbled.
His hands, slick with "sweat" (and dog blood), "lost their grip." He "tripped" backward over the corpse of a dog he had definitely known was there.
CLANG!
The heavy, five-foot steel rail, his only weapon, his "Adept" brute-force equalizer, flew from his grasp. It skittered across the pavement, coming to a stop ten feet away.
He was "unarmed." He was "exhausted." He was "defenseless."
From inside the library, Su Yun shrieked, a high-pitched, terrified, "NO!"
The pack leader, which had been waiting for this exact moment, its animal cunning finally paying off, saw its opening. The alpha-predator's nemesis was on the ground, weaponless, and vulnerable.
It didn't hesitate.
It gathered its powerful, mutated legs, and it lunged.
It was not a snap, or a bite. It was a 70-pound, crimson-eyed missile, a blur of fangs and claws, launching itself directly at Lin Hao's exposed, grime-covered throat.