The private surgical suite at Aether International was a sterile fortress of chrome and blue light. Outside, the world was descending into chaos, but inside, the air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the hum of life-support systems.
Lian stood over his father's body. Feng's skin was no longer pale; it was interlaced with dark, spiderweb-like veins that pulsed with a rhythmic, obsidian rot. It was the "Shadow's Grip," a signature poison of the Viper that didn't just stop the heart—it liquefied the nervous system.
"Oxygen levels dropping to 70%," the robotic voice of the vitals monitor droned.
Lian gripped the surgical tray. His hands were gloved, but the proximity to his father—the man whose touch he had feared for a lifetime—sent waves of nausea through him.
'Focus,' the King's soul commanded. 'He isn't your father right now. He is a puzzle. Solve it.'
The Battle in the HallsSuddenly, the heavy reinforced doors of the surgical wing shuddered. A muffled explosion echoed from the corridor.
Through the intercom, Jin-Ho's voice came through, strained but filled with that familiar, mocking edge. "Lian-ah! The 'Viper' brought a small army of toys. I'm currently playing tag in the East Hall. Don't get distracted by the noise—I've got the front door locked!"
Lian glanced at the security monitor. In the hallway, Jin-Ho was a blur of motion. He didn't use a gun; he used a weighted tactical chain that moved like a living thing, snapping against the henchmen's limbs with the cunning of a fox. He was smiling, but his eyes were murderous.
"Finish the surgery, Little Phoenix!" Jin-Ho shouted over the sound of clashing steel. "I won't let a single shadow cross your threshold!"
The Midnight OperationLian turned back to the table. He picked up a long, silver needle. He didn't use the standard IV; he needed to perform a direct neural bypass.
"I need to vent the spinal fluid," Lian whispered to himself.
As he leaned over to make the incision, a shadow detached itself from the ceiling vents. A hooded figure dropped silently onto the surgical floor, a curved blade aimed directly at Lian's exposed neck.
Lian didn't stop the incision.
Without looking up, he swung his left leg in a lightning-fast crescent kick. His heel caught the assassin's jaw with the force of a sledgehammer, sending the man sprawling into a rack of glass vials.
Crash.
Lian's hand didn't shake. He finished the spinal tap, the black fluid hissing into a pressurized container.
The assassin scrambled up, pulling a second blade. Lian finally looked at him. His eyes weren't the eyes of a doctor; they were the eyes of a man who had seen empires fall.
"I am currently saving a life," Lian said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "If you interrupt me again, I will ensure yours is the most painful one ever recorded in medical history."
The assassin lunged. Lian stepped aside with a dancer's grace, caught the man's wrist, and pressed a specific thumb-joint. A sickening pop echoed in the room. Before the man could scream, Lian struck a pressure point on his neck, and the assassin collapsed into a heap of silent meat.
Lian turned back to his father. The black veins were beginning to recede. He injected a golden-hued herbal essence into the carotid artery—a counter-poison he had formulated in the middle of the night.
"Vitals stabilizing," the monitor chirped. "Oxygen levels: 92%."
The AftermathThe doors finally slid open. Jin-Ho leaned against the frame, his cream suit ruined, his knuckles bruised, and a streak of blood on his cheek. He looked at the unconscious assassin on the floor, then at Lian, who was calmly suturing his father's neck.
"You really are a god-level multi-tasker," Jin-Ho panted, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.
Lian pulled off his gloves, his legs finally feeling like lead. The Haphephobia hit him all at once—the realization of how close the assassin had been, how much "touch" had happened in the last hour. He stumbled, his back hitting the cold wall of the surgery room.
Jin-Ho was there in a second. He didn't grab Lian. He just stood close, creating a wall of safety. "It's okay. They're gone. Your father is breathing. You did it."
Lian looked up at Jin-Ho. The "Extreme Loneliness" was there, but it was being pushed back by the presence of this man who had fought a literal army just to give Lian an hour of peace.
"He was testing me," Lian whispered, his voice cracking. "The Viper. He wanted to see if I would choose my skills or my fear."
"And you chose both," Jin-Ho said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, clean handkerchief, gently wiping the sweat from Lian's forehead—the only place skin was visible. "Which makes you the most dangerous man I've ever met. And the most beautiful."
Lian didn't pull away. He let the touch linger for a second. The mystery of the "Viper" was far from solved, but for the first time, Lian felt like he wasn't just surviving a tragedy. He was writing a new story.