Ranked Fourteenth in the Ability Organization, Codename—Tyrant

When Tang Shaoyu’s crew spotted the silver-haired girl, their faces tightened like frost on glass, a rim of fear creeping in.

“Hey, hey, why do these people look so scared of that silver-haired chick?” Mu Zhen bumped A-Hui with a shoulder like a careless ram, and A-Hui staggered, cursing as if sparks flew.

He steadied, rolling his neck like a hinge thawing. “You wouldn’t know; you just got here,” he murmured, drawing closer like a cat inching into shadow. “I’ll keep it down, or trouble will bite like winter wind.”

Mu Zhen nodded, ear tilted like a leaf catching rain. “That cool, pretty silver-haired girl? Codename’s Tyrant, ranked fourteenth in the organization,” A-Hui rattled off, eyes flicking her way like swallows checking the sky.

“Oh, so she’s strong?” Mu Zhen’s gaze lit up like a torch in dusk. “Hey, don’t stare—fear’s only warming up,” A-Hui hissed, slapping his face sideways like a paper fan snapping shut.

“Damn, paying me back already?” Mu Zhen’s fists itched like thunder under skin, but he held back, letting the next words rise like smoke.

“Far as I know, Tyrant’s parents were ordinary folks,” A-Hui said, palm on his chin like a thinker under a lantern. “They got killed by the Ouyang Clan by ‘accident’ during an early op. She awakened, and wiped out those Ouyang members—people say the corpses were a nightmare, like winter ravaging a garden.”

“Just when Ouyang reinforcements rushed in to erase her, Lin Fan stepped in and stopped it, then took her away,” he added, voice low as mist. “Right now, besides Lin Fan, no one knows her real name. Only her codename echoes.”

“Still sounds normal to me—where’s the scary?” Mu Zhen scratched his head, fingers raking like comb teeth.

“Not at the core yet,” A-Hui shot a glare at the black-haired musclehead nearby like a hawk cutting wind. “Tyrant moves by her own will, storm-true. Lin Fan’s the only one who can rein her in. On a past mission, she dismembered a target meant to be captured, and the teammates who tried to stop her were chopped into pieces—like wood scattered by an axe.”

“Even her teammates? That’s brutal!” Mu Zhen shivered like grass in a night gust. “Yeah,” A-Hui nodded, eyes dim as embers, “no one dares get near her now. The organization wanted to hit her with heavy punishment, but Lin Fan vouched for her. These days, Tyrant doesn’t move alone unless it’s with Lin Fan.”

“So that’s how she got the name Tyrant—doesn’t match the face at all,” Mu Zhen muttered, his expression tightening like a drawn bow, and his heart told him to keep distance like a river skirting a cliff; his frame was broad, but not a match for rank fourteen.

“All units, listen up!” Tang Shaoyu’s voice rolled like drums before a storm. “Tactical plans have been sent to your wrist-comms. We’ll crush Ouyang’s plot and let them feel the bite of our two clans! And we’ll rescue Lin Fan’s ma… girlfriend!”

A sharp hashtag pulsed on Lin Fan’s forehead like a storm glyph bristling; if Tang’s armor weren’t solid as iron bark, a fist would’ve flown like thunder.

The two ability squads verified each other, then scattered into the woods like starlings breaking from a tree. The clearing thinned to three figures: Lin Fan, Tang Shaoyu, and Tyrant. Tang drifted nearer to the fear everyone wore like cold rain. The silver-haired girl kept her headphones on, listening like a moon lost in its own tide, her fine features still as a winter lake.

“Qing Xing?” Tang drew close, his helmet flowing back into his armor like water folding into stone, revealing a face as sharp as a sunlit blade, no less striking than Lin Fan’s.

Whoosh—the dagger on Tyrant’s right hip kissed Tang’s throat in a blink, her windcoat sliding off her arm like dusk off snow, and her pale skin flashed like porcelain. The dagger’s dull-gray finish held a dark skull, and its edge whispered of severed heads and clean cuts. “Hey, Qing Xing, it’s me!” Tang blurted, voice cracking like dry wood.

“Hm?” Tyrant tilted her head a fraction, then retracted the blade as if nothing had happened, quiet as falling ash.

“Besides me, you’re the only one she’s close to,” Lin Fan said, lifting his gaze from the moving lines of the operation like a general under lantern light.

“Yeah, first time being held at swordpoint by a knife I gifted,” Tang sighed, fussing with his punk-slashed hair, helmet-crushed like reeds under snow. The twin daggers at her side were named Silver Moon and Ghost; the one that tasted his neck was Ghost.

Back when Tyrant butchered her team and the organization aimed to pass judgment, it wasn’t just Lin Fan’s guarantee—Tang Shaoyu pressed from the shadows like a hidden weight, and that pull saved her. Afterward, Tang learned her real name: Qing Xing. The young master’s interest sparked like flint—brutal yet beautiful, a paradox like blood on snow—and every approach ended in failure, often nearly costing his life; only Lin Fan knew these near-deaths, and no one else. Later, Tang got hold of a matched dagger pair and couldn’t wait to gift them; now, he’d almost been claimed by his own blade.

“Outer ring’s secure. Time for us to move,” Lin Fan said, black combat suit swallowing light like nightfall. He pressed his gloved hands together, and a yellow glow rose like dawn under earth. “Power of Earth—Earth-Core Tremor.”

The flat ground opened, a great hole blooming like a sinkhole flower, diving downward like a drill burrowing to the underworld.

“Let’s go. We’ll tunnel straight to the base and punch in,” Lin Fan dropped first like a hawk, the other two following like twin shadows. “Lin Fan, your tri-element control looks solid,” Tang called, nodding like a captain counting stars.

“Earth can only reshape terrain and raise defense for now—still a long road,” Lin Fan said, his light flaring like molten amber; the pace doubled like a river finding a steeper grade. “But it’s enough to deal with Ouyang Si.”

“Add Qing Xing’s edge, and if Ouyang Si doesn’t run full tilt, he’ll be pinned here like a butterfly,” Tang’s armor lit at its joints like a walking lantern, flooding the tunnel with cold glow.

“We’re here, Shaoyu.” Their boots hit hard metal, the ceiling of the base, ringing like iron bells.

“Got it. No wonder your plan had me bring this toy,” Tang shrugged, easy as wind. “High-Output Laser—activate!”

His white armor unfolded at shoulders and palms like shells opening, twin shoulder cannons and hand nozzles blazing with eye-stabbing red light like twin suns.

Szzzzzt—the beams cut until the battery ran like a river running dry, then stopped. Sizzle—the cannon mouths glowed faintly red, heat shimmering like mirage. “What is this stuff, bricks of a vault? They spend all their budget on house armor?” he griped, and after all that, the surface only had a hole deep enough for a forearm, like a bite taken out of steel bark.

“Fine, we’ll let this open the way.” Tang pulled out a capsule the size of half a fist, slotting it into the gap like a seed into soil. “Ice-Seal!”

He pointed to the ground, and a skin of hard ice spread across the surface like winter rushing over a lake. “All units, we’re about to use armor-piercing bombardment. Avoid red-marked zones on your maps,” Lin Fan sent the info to their wrist-comms, red areas blooming like blood drops on each display.

“I’ll add another layer. Power of Earth—Earth-Core Tremor!” Lin Fan laid rock over the ice like a stone quilt. “This blast will punch through the Ouyang Clan’s base. You can go find your ma—no, your girlfriend,” Tang said, patting Lin Fan’s shoulder like a brother steadying a bow.

“I’m not arguing. Prep the blast.”