The silver divine radiance dissipated completely, plunging the dock warehouse back into a suffocating gloom and dampness.

  "Hah... hah... hah..."

  John Doe felt like his spine had been ripped out. He slid down the massive mechanical leg of the Hades Mech and slumped onto the floor. The surge of Martial God power that had filled his body just moments ago retreated like a tidal wave, leaving behind only the agonizing pain and hollowness of severe overdraft.

  That was the side effect of the [God-Tier Trial Card]—Soul Overdraft.

  Immediately after, things got worse.

  As the adrenaline faded, the thick stench of blood and burning ozone surrounding him—along with the warm liquid (The Butcher’s blood) dripping from the mech’s joints onto the back of John's hand—instantly triggered his damned physiological defect.

  Hemophobia. Late, but it always arrived.

  "Urgh..."

  John’s stomach convulsed violently. His vision began to sway, black spots dancing before his eyes. His brain screamed with a high-pitched tinnitus caused by lack of oxygen, and his body instinctively wanted to faint to escape this bloody reality.

  If this were the old John, he would have collapsed already.

  But this time, John bit down hard on the tip of his tongue.

  "Can't sleep... Mom isn't out yet..."

  He roared internally.

  On the edge of life and death, Daoist Singularity’s seemingly casual teachings suddenly flowed through his mind like a clear spring.

  "Kid, Daoism focuses on 'Dual Cultivation of Nature and Life.' You faint at the sight of blood because your 'Shen' (Spirit/Mind) cannot suppress your 'Qi' (Physiological Reaction). When your heart is in chaos, your blood flows in reverse."

  "Remember the mantra: Heart clear as ice, the sky falls without alarm."

  John forced himself to hold onto the last thread of clarity. He didn't wipe the blood off his hand. Instead, with extreme difficulty, he brought his hands together in front of his chest, forming a clumsy, non-standard "Tai Chi Seal."

  He was attempting to regulate his breath.

  This wasn't magic. This was the foundation of Daoist arts—[Tu Na] (Breathing).

  "Inhale... into the Dantian... Exhale... expel the turbid air..."

  John closed his eyes, forcibly cutting off the visual signals. He imagined a stream of cool air rising up his spine, suppressing the churning stomach acid and soothing his frantic heart.

  Something miraculous happened.

  Although his body remained weak and the smell of blood was still pungent, the terrifying sensation of losing control was actually suppressed a fraction. His consciousness refocused; it was no longer a chaotic mess.

  This was growth.

  He was no longer the useless trash who could only passively wait to pass out. He was beginning to learn how to control his own body, even if it was just the most basic control.

  "BOSS!!!"

  A roar laced with a sob broke the silence.

  BOOM!

  A loud crash came from the warehouse entrance. The "No Living Allowed" barrier that had blocked Bone earlier had deactivated with the Warlock's death.

  Bone charged in like a runaway tank, smashing through the shipping containers piled at the door.

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  He immediately saw the figure slumped at the feet of the mech, and the steel monster frozen in a stomping posture.

  "Boss! Don't die on me!"

  The soul-fire in Bone's eye sockets instantly exploded into a blinding, violent white. He thought John had been crushed flat.

  Extreme grief and rage sent the skeleton into a complete frenzy.

  He didn't hesitate. Even facing an eight-meter-tall steel behemoth, he lunged straight at it. Using both hands and feet, he scrambled up the mech’s leg armor like a spider, his bone claws gouging sparks from the metal.

  "DIE... FOR ME!!!"

  Bone climbed to the cockpit.

  There was a hole there—the spot pierced by the Dragon Courage Spear.

  Through the hole, he could see the pilot inside—the man codenamed "Butcher."

  He wasn't dead yet.

  As a high-ranking commander of the Necromancy Guild, The Butcher’s body had undergone deep mechanical modification. Although his heart was pierced, his backup life-support system was running in overdrive, pumping green alchemical fluids to sustain his last breath.

  The Butcher’s single remaining eye rolled, and his trembling hand raised a large-caliber pistol, aiming it at John below.

  "Little... bastard..." The Butcher’s throat gurgled with bloody bubbles. "Let's go... together..."

  "GO TO HELL!!!"

  Bone had reached the breach.

  He saw the gun.

  No words. No hesitation. Bone had no weapon, and he didn't need one.

  He threw his impossibly hard, spirit-fire-tempered skull backward, and then, like a cannonball firing from the chamber, he smashed a vicious headbutt into the breach of the cockpit.

  "SMASH!"

  BANG!!!

  This was a headbutt of pure, unadulterated physical violence.

  Before The Butcher could pull the trigger, Bone’s skull had already shattered the fragile layer of bulletproof glass and slammed ruthlessly into The Butcher’s half-flesh, half-metal face.

  CRUNCH!

  The sound of metal deforming and bone shattering mixed together.

  The Butcher’s head was smashed into the pilot's seat like a rotten watermelon. The backup life-support system was smashed into a short circuit, spraying green fluid everywhere.

  This time, he was truly dead.

  "That one's on the house! You're welcome!"

  Bone wasn't satisfied. He added two more smashes until he was sure the bastard couldn't possibly twitch again, then stopped, panting (metaphorically).

  He pulled his head out of the pile of gore, shook off the blood plasma (which made him look even more terrifying), and immediately turned to look down.

  "Boss? Boss, you okay?"

  "Cough... not dead yet..."

  John’s weak voice drifted up. Guided by Grace, he had used the tiny bit of stamina he recovered to crawl to Margaret’s side.

  "Bone... stop posing up there... come... help..."

  Hearing John’s voice, Bone’s soul-fire instantly stabilized. He slid down the mech like it was a slide and rushed to John’s side.

  "Scared the hell out of me... I thought I was gonna have to find a new boss." Bone wanted to hug John but saw the blood all over himself and shrank his hands back.

  "Cut the crap." John held onto his mother’s wheelchair (which was actually a broken chair). "We can't stay here. Grace, situation outside?"

  "Not good." Grace’s voice was urgent. "Although the perimeter mechs are destroyed, the Guild's Quick Reaction Force (QRF) is converging on this location. ETA 5 minutes. And... your account balance is negative. We can't use the teleport gate."

  No money. No backup. No status.

  John looked around. This was a dead zone.

  "Search the bodies," John said suddenly.

  "Huh?" Bone paused.

  "I said loot them!" John pointed at the pile of ash that used to be the Necromancer Warlock, then pointed at the mech cockpit. "We're broke, but they aren't. Spirit stones, guns, chips—take everything! These are war trophies!"

  This was an awakening of instinct. After being debt-ridden, humiliated, and hunted, John finally understood a truth: In this world, to survive, you cannot let go of a single resource.

  "Got it!"

  Bone’s eyes lit up. He knew this drill.

  He nimbly climbed back into the cockpit, stripping the expensive pistol from The Butcher, checking for a spatial storage necklace (if any), and even prying out the high-energy core chip from the mech's console.

  Meanwhile, John wasn't idle.

  Holding back his nausea, he walked to the pile of ash left by the Necromancer.

  In the black dust, something was emitting a faint, ghostly glow.

  John crouched down, wrapped his hand in a rag, and picked it up.

  It was a black ring engraved with complex runes.

  The moment John’s finger touched the ring, a stream of cold information, carrying fragments of memory, drilled into his brain.

  “...As long as that woman... God Descent...”

  “...Sewer... secret passage...”

  John’s pupils constricted violently.

  This was the embryonic form of [Necromancer's Empathy].

  After the shock of being possessed by an S-Class Heroic Spirit like Zhao Yun, John’s soul resilience had been forcibly stretched. Now, even without turning on the iPad, he could vaguely perceive the "Voice of the Dead" lingering on high-spiritual items.

  "Sewer... secret passage..."

  John whipped his head around to look at an inconspicuous drainage grate in the corner of the warehouse.

  That was the escape route in the Warlock's memory.

  "Bone! Stop picking at it! Let's go!"

  John stuffed the ring into his pocket and hoisted his unconscious mother onto his back.

  "Where to?" Bone jumped down, arms full of loot.

  "The dirty way." John pointed at the grate reeking of sewage. "The dirtiest places are the cleanest."

  Thrum-thrum-thrum—

  The sound of armed helicopter rotors was already audible in the distance.

  John took one last look at the battlefield.

  The once-arrogant Hades Mech stood there silently in the dark like a tombstone.

  "This tab isn't settled yet."

  John gritted his teeth and led his team of misfits, diving headfirst into the dark underground tunnel.

  This time, he wasn't fleeing.

  He was a wolf, retreating into the shadows with his spoils and his hatred, waiting to strike back.

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