“I will save you, Xiaoxue.” He doesn’t even wipe the blood drying like dark ink at his lips and across his chest; he looks nightmarish, but unbowed. His gaze is a nailed arrow, black pupils locked on Xiao Qianxue, who floats in the air like a pale moon.
His black coat hangs in torn ribbons, a storm-torn sail; yet on him it reads as grit, not ruin—stubborn bone under shredded cloth.
“...” The red-haired girl doesn’t strike. Red-black wings fan lazily behind her, holding her aloft with the ease of a hawk riding a thermal. Who is he? Why… damn it… Memory flickers like tide and fire: a gold beach by an island shore; a cave’s ember-glow; two silhouettes doubled in the dancing light.
In a blink, green light floods Lin Fan, a spring storm swallowing stone. “Aaaah!” His black eyes blaze verdant, and lines creep up his neck to his face, coil down his arms to his palms—tattoos that pulse like breathing fireflies.
“Power of the Forest—Rebirth!” Green wind brushes his wounds; pain in his organs fades like frost in sun; his whole body eases, as if rain quenched a long-burning field.
“Interesting.” Her old memories writhe like trapped eels, then get drowned by a red tide of violence. “Power’s rising, but you’re still too weak.” Xiao Qianxue sneers and snaps her wings, a crimson arrow loosed. “Bloodfiend Arrow—Pierce!” Her crystal darts evolve into flowing red, molten and lethal; their force is beyond doubt, like a flood tumbling boulders.
“Power of the Forest—Timber Bulwark!” Green motes flash like sparks in moss. Not vines this time, but colossal roots thrust up, an ancient forest folding tight around Lin Fan.
If the old butler were here, he’d know the shift at a glance. Lin Fan has evolved from an element wielder to an elemental body. Handling three elements was a cliff of knives; advancing further was a sky with no ladder. But chance shoved him through. Pity—his mind has gone under; instinct is steering the helm.
Boom! Xiao Qianxue’s true body dives with the Bloodfiend Arrow and slams the root cocoon; the impact rattles the whole base like thunder under floorboards. Under Tang Shaoyu’s barked orders, the squad scatters like birds flushed from a tree.
“Boss, didn’t Lin Fan not even come out yet…?” Ahui stares as his boss flies out princess-carrying the Tyrant, and he stumbles back, spooked like a colt. The Tang clan elites sweat cold, fingers white on rifles; a silver-haired girl resting quiet could still be a guillotine wrapped in gauze.
“This is beyond us now.” Tang Shaoyu touches down yet doesn’t put Qingxing down. He studies her exquisite face, and a smile ghosts his lips. “Tell the medics to move. Faster.” He lifts his head. “Uncle Pang, go find that woman who always looks half-asleep.”
“Uh… that’s a bit tricky…” Uncle Pang’s face creases; the young master usually handled her, but now— “Tell her Lin Fan’s in trouble. I don’t believe she won’t come back.” Tang Shaoyu watches the helicopter drop like a dragonfly to water.
“Then my brothers and I are heading out. I’ll take the Tyrant back for treatment and return her later!” Tang Shaoyu strides aboard with Qingxing in his arms; the others pile in, nerves taut as bowstrings, guns clenched, as if the raid itself hadn’t earned this much dread.
Once Tang Shaoyu’s group lifts off like a hawk, the people of the Lin Clan burst into motion, ants after rain: scavenging the base, calling in hands.
Back to the two locked in love and war—
Green flares across the roots. The Bloodfiend Arrow hits like a hammer, but the emerald sheen drinks it like dew drinks ash. “Try this.” Purple flame blooms in her left hand, a fire that looks like it could burn out the night. The outer green shield gives in a breath, but on the roots the flames don’t scythe; they grind, as if two mountains pushed against each other.
“Power of the Forest—Four-Pillar Cage!” Seeing the wood technique breached, Lin Fan drops the Bulwark and points at Xiao Qianxue. Trees spear up from the floor, knit into a cage, and snap shut around the red-haired hawk.
“Heh. Child’s play.” She watches the wood weave like a weaver bored of his loom.
“Power of the Forest—Thornkill Art!” His attack turns storm-wild. Gone are flimsy vines; whip-thick branches coil the cage, then shoot inward like bullets. Boom. If it were an ordinary esper, calling them “mince” would be praise.
But Lin Fan is no longer moving by will. “Power of the Forest—Treebind Eternal Burial!” With cage and vines layered, more trees surge up and swaddle the zone. “Down!” He slams both palms. The tattoos blaze, a full charge humming like a hive.
Rumble! The whole thicket crashes earthward, girl and all, like a landslide dropped from the sky.
“Enough. Break.” Blood-red light leaks through every seam like lava in cracked stone, then detonation chases it—boom! Bloodlight brightens, and a shockwave ripples out from Xiao Qianxue, a scarlet ring racing across the ruin.
The trees shatter to splinters, a forest in a hurricane. Inside, the girl stands unharmed; only dust kisses the bandages on her skin.
“You really are interesting.” Her low voice rolls through the lab, now rubble and bent steel; even the ceiling trembles like a cliff after an aftershock.
“Xiaoxue…” A thread of clarity returns to Lin Fan. He looks at the glowing tattoos and the power coursing like a river in flood. He clenches his fist. Hope sparks—maybe he can save the girl he loves.
“Fire Elemental Body—switch.” In a breath, green fades; flame takes him. His black hair becomes living fire, a crown of blaze—like a Super Saiyan born of a bonfire.
“Come on, Xiaoxue. Head-on now—I won’t dodge.” Fire shapes in his hands, a sword and a shield; his control of elements stands peak-high, like a blade honed to mirror.
Thud. He stamps the floor and rockets up toward the red-haired hawk.
Clang! Blood God’s Hand meets the fire-sword; sparks spit like meteors.
The strike that swatted Qingxing like a fly, Lin Fan takes it and holds. “In this form, my close combat didn’t just tick up a notch.”
