“Little… little thing?”
Cheng Shengnan’s face paled as she stared at the massive, frost-coated sphere now visible in the hallway. She wanted to ask Shen Ge—Are you sure this thing is “little”?
She couldn’t even fathom how something this enormous had followed her home!
Just then, Shen Ge’s shadow rippled unnaturally, stretching across the floor until it touched the frozen sphere—locking it in place.
Immobile activated.
The ability’s duration depended on the target’s threat level, quantity, and distance, consuming 10% to 100% of his mental energy per second.
With 180% reserves, Shen Ge’s current drain was 20% per second.
He had nine seconds.
“Boss Cheng, quit gawking and shoot!“
Immobilized himself, Shen Ge could only rely on Cheng Shengnan for offense.
“Train a companion for a day, use them in the moment of need.”
Sure, ditching Cheng Shengnan and working alone would’ve been simpler—but he needed insurance for Immobile.
Otherwise, he’d just be stuck staring at the anomaly, helpless.
He’d picked her over Feng Chengxiu for two reasons:
First, after years of working together, he knew she wasn’t a gossip.
Second, silencing a civilian was far easier than silencing a Special Measures elite.
Cheng Shengnan fumbled for the pistol, chambered a round, and aimed—hands trembling. Gritting her teeth, she steadied her grip, bracing for recoil.
BANG!
The first shot struck just below the sphere’s apex—a hair’s breadth from a miss. Given her earlier abysmal target practice (three shots, three misses), this was a miracle.
The bullet punched into the creature’s translucent flesh, splattering blue blood across its frost-coated surface.
“Keep going!” Shen Ge urged.
Emboldened, Cheng Shengnan emptied the magazine into the anomaly, each shot splashing more blue across the hallway.
Shen Ge had immobilized Invisible to prevent it from pulling some “all-in on agility” nonsense and vanishing again.
The real danger of Invisible was its transparency—both in form and within the anomaly space. Even with the system’s warnings, tracking it was a pain.
A few bullets might kill it. If not, wounds could slow it down.
As Cheng Shengnan’s gun clicked empty, Shen Ge released Immobile, swapped to his submachine gun, and unleashed a barrage.
His aim was far sharper. The hallway bloomed with blue as rounds shredded the creature’s body.
Yet Invisible ignored the gunfire, too busy devouring the octopus meat. By the time Shen Ge’s magazine ran dry, it had swallowed the entire chunk—and grown.
Its diameter doubled to two meters.
“The hell? It’s evolving?”
Shen Ge recalled the Felid Anomaly from the villa—how it had ballooned to the size of a leopard post-mutation.
“Fall back!”
He reloaded, but the blood-smeared sphere suddenly unfurled—revealing the octopus had coiled its tentacles around itself. Now splayed out, it resembled a grotesque, living carpet of gore.
Then the “carpet” surged toward them.
Shen Ge lunged into the stairwell, yanking Cheng Shengnan with him as tentacles lashed overhead. He whipped out his combat knife, severing several in mid-air—but Invisible had far more than eight limbs.
Worse, the severed stumps regrew instantly—twice as fast as the Rat Anomaly’s regeneration.
Before Shen Ge could pull Cheng Shengnan up, more tentacles snared their waists, hoisting them off the ground—then slammed them downward.
Mid-descent, Shen Ge slashed upward, slicing through the tentacles. Blue blood sprayed his visor, but the gas mask kept it from blinding him.
He hit the floor, rolled, and sprang up—just in time to hack at the tendrils dragging Cheng Shengnan.
Two days of training hadn’t boosted his stats much, but it had honed his combat instincts. Pre-mission, he’d never have moved this fluidly.
More tentacles surged. Shen Ge grabbed Cheng Shengnan and bolted for the stairs.
“You know the rules by now—hide in a room or keep climbing. Your call!” He shoved her into the stairwell and spun back toward the horror.
If bullets couldn’t kill Invisible, the Immobile + Cheng Shengnan combo was useless.
At the stairwell entrance, Shen Ge dumped the remaining octopus meat from an insulated bag, stuffed in a frag grenade, then loosely resealed it—letting the scent permeate.
He charged back in, hurling both flashbangs for distraction. As the stun effects faded, he doused the hallway with the cryo-device, freezing swathes of tentacles solid.
His knife carved through the brittle limbs like ice sculptures.
But Invisible had too many tentacles. The grenade had to hit its core—or this was all for nothing. With only two explosives, failure wasn’t an option.
The corridor was a nightmare of writhing, blood-smeared tendrils—like stumbling into a nest of giant worms. Anyone with trypophobia would’ve fainted on the spot.
How to reach the main body?
No time for clever plans. The fastest solution was also the dumbest:
Bait.
Shen Ge clutched the loosely packed insulated bag to his chest—some octopus already spilling out—while raising his knife high.
Two seconds later, tentacles coiled around his legs, torso, and arms, yanking him toward the creature’s core.
Just before reaching it, the tendrils tried snatching the bag. Shen Ge’s knife scythed down, severing his bindings.
As the stumps regrew, he lunged forward, yanked the grenade’s pin, and shoved the bag beneath the sphere’s bulk.
“A nice meal, on me!”
Invisible probably had a “wow, you’re so thoughtful” moment—right before Shen Ge dove back into the stairwell.
BOOM.
Blue gore and viscera painted the hallway. Chunks of gelatinous flesh rained down.
No system notification meant Invisible wasn’t dead yet. And since it grew stronger by eating its own kind, Shen Ge couldn’t afford to wait.
So he marched back in like a butcher—cryo-device in one hand, knife in the other—freezing and hacking every twitching remnant.
The sphere had fractured into pieces. Shen Ge was mid-decapitation of a particularly large chunk when—
CRACK.
The sound of shattering glass echoed once more.
