The subway station was no longer a transit hub. It was a kill box.
Six halogen floodlights cut through the gloom, trained directly on the swirling blue vortex of the Dungeon Gate. Behind barricades of overturned benches, twelve soldiers from the Iron Fist Guild aimed assault rifles at the portal.
Standing in front of them was Captain Marco. Rank D. He wore heavy composite armor and held a massive two-handed broadsword resting on his shoulder. He looked like a tank in human form.
"Readings?" Marco barked.
"Energy spike detected, Captain," a technician said, staring at a tablet. "The Dungeon instance has closed. The survivor is coming out."
"Survivor?" Marco sneered. "Kane went in there to collect a debt from a rat. If someone is coming out, it's either Kane... or his murderer."
Marco tightened his grip on the sword. "On my command. If it's not Kane, cripple them."
The vortex rippled. The hum of the portal deepened, vibrating in the soldiers' chests.
ZZZT.
A boot stepped out onto the tiled floor. It wasn't Kane's heavy combat boot. It was a worn, bloody sneaker.
The soldiers tensed fingers on triggers.
Then, the figure fully emerged.
It wasn't a scared kid. It wasn't a beggar. It was a nightmare.
The figure wore a cloak made of shredded rags, soaked in so much blood it was dripping onto the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. But the face... The face was covered by a mask made of raw, greyish-green skin. It was the flayed face of a goblin, crude holes cut out for eyes. Through those holes, a pair of cold, human eyes stared out.
And he wasn't alone. Three silent shadows stood behind him. They didn't breathe. They didn't move. They just radiated a cold, lifeless intent.
Marco frowned. The smell hit him first—sulfur, ozone, and the copper tang of fresh slaughter. This wasn't a scavenger. This was a butcher.
"Hold fire," Marco ordered, raising his hand.
He stepped forward, his D-Rank aura flaring to intimidate the stranger. "This area is under the jurisdiction of the Iron Fist Guild. Identify yourself."
The masked figure didn't answer. He didn't even stop walking. He walked straight toward the barricade, his steps heavy and rhythmic.
"I said halt!" Marco leveled his broadsword. "Remove the mask, or we open fire."
The figure stopped ten meters away. The three shadow guards shifted slightly, their hands hovering near their waists.
Lin looked at Marco through the skin-mask. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. [Stress Level: Critical] [Adrenaline: Max]
If they shot now, he was dead. His clones could block a few bullets, but not a storm. Marco alone could cut him in half. He had to sell the lie.
Lin tilted his head. He reached into his blood-soaked pocket.
"Weapon!" a soldier shouted.
Lin ignored him. He pulled out a fist-sized object glowing with a pulsating crimson light. He tossed it in the air casually, caught it, and tossed it again.
Thump. Catch. Thump. Catch.
Marco's eyes widened. He recognized that glow. That wasn't a normal core. That was a Boss Core.
[Object Analysis: E+ Rank Dungeon Boss Core] [Value: High]
Marco's mind raced. He soloed the Dungeon? No, that's impossible for anyone below Rank C. Did he kill the Boss alone? Or did he kill an entire team and take their loot? The blood on the cloak... was that goblin blood? Or human?
The uncertainty was the weapon.
"You're blocking my path," Lin said. His voice was muffled by the mask, rasping and distorted. He didn't sound angry. He sounded bored.
Marco hesitated. If this guy was a C-Rank psychopath who just soloed a dungeon for fun, engaging him would mean heavy casualties. Marco was a captain, not a suicide bomber. He didn't get paid enough to fight unknown monsters.
"We are looking for a fugitive," Marco said, his tone shifting from command to negotiation. "A kid named Lin. F-Rank. Did you see him inside?"
Lin let out a dry, short laugh. "There was no kid inside. Only meat."
The implication hung in the air. Did he eat the kid? Did the monsters eat the kid?
Lin took a step forward. "I'm leaving. Unless you want to donate your cores to me, too?"
The three shadows stepped forward in unison. [Bluff Success Rate: 85%]
Marco looked at the Boss Core. He looked at the shadows that didn't show up on his thermal scanner. He gritted his teeth.
"Stand down," Marco ordered. "Let him pass."
"Captain?"
"I said stand down!"
The soldiers lowered their rifles, parting to create a path through the barricade.
Lin didn't run. He didn't hurry. He walked past Marco, less than a meter away. He could smell the Captain's cheap cologne. Marco could smell the dungeon's rot on Lin.
Lin kept walking, past the lights, past the guns, up the stairs toward the rainy street. He didn't look back.
Only when he was three blocks away, hidden in the labyrinth of a back alley, did Lin finally collapse against a dumpster.
[Warning: Heart Rate 180 BPM.] [Status: Safe.]
He ripped the goblin-skin mask off his face, gasping for fresh air. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. "That..." Lin wheezed, clutching the glowing Boss Core to his chest. "That was closer than the Boss fight."
He looked at the mask in his hand. "But it worked."
Lin stood up, his eyes hardening. The shaking stopped. "Joker," he whispered. "The Mask. I need a new name for the night."
He put the mask back on. Now, it was time to turn this red rock into life-saving money.
（"Enjoying the massacre? Drop a Power Stone to feed the Clone Army!"）