Many years later, facing the maid, Anning would remember that night—the one that forever altered her destiny.

A cold, damp wind blew.

Rain crashed down.

Standing by the conference room’s floor-to-ceiling window, she watched through slowly sliding raindrops: neon lights glittered; lightning tore through storm clouds beyond the horizon; the silent city glowed ghastly white, like an overexposed photograph. Only after a long pause did a low rumble of thunder reach her ears.

*Ding-dong.*

In the deathly quiet room, a lone phone notification chimed.

Probably just another weather alert. Phones always flooded with warnings and news during heavy storms, didn’t they?

Anning suddenly recalled checking the forecast before leaving home—it had predicted tonight’s downpour.

But was *this* truly just rain?

Thunder roared. Rain poured. Swirling clouds swallowed the moonlight. In the Silent Witch’s dreamscape, ordinary humans slumbered while Abnormals fought and slaughtered… Truly, perfect weather for revenge.

She kicked off her heels, spun around, and drove the Bianju into his chest.

Blood splattered across her pale skin, blooming like crimson plum blossoms. She yanked the short sword free—her black hair instantly bleached snow-white.

She had turned.

But this was reality, not a tokusatsu show with invincibility frames. And Mr. Zhang held no martial honor. The moment the blade pierced her own flesh, jet-black humanoids lunged. Jaws unhinged, faces splitting snake-like to bare fangs aimed at her throat.

She swung.

The blood-slicked blade swept horizontally, mowing them down at the waist like wheat.

They writhed soundlessly on the floor, bleached white, stripped of color, fading into faint outlines before crumbling into nothing.

But this was only the beginning.

Jet-black humanoids poured endlessly from every shadow—beneath tables, wall corners, ceiling vents, even the silhouette clinging to Anning’s back.

Replicating. Resurrecting. Multiplying.

Mindless, they obeyed their master’s command like fictional swarms—evolving mid-battle: severed ones grew armored shells; those purified by the Bianju sprouted ranged attacks. Anning cut wave after wave. Easy at first. Then exhausting.

She’d long planned to strike the leader directly—but the tide of humanoids never parted between her and Mr. Zhang.

Through fleeting gaps, she saw him. He saw her.

Smiling. Dismissive.

Anning narrowed her eyes, drew a sharp breath, cleaved through the horde, and slashed the air with her free hand. A dagger tumbled from the ruptured space-time.

Contained Artifact No. 713: the Poison-Coated Dagger. Any humanoid within one meter would compulsively grab it, lick it, and die.

Like ants drawn to honey, nearby humanoids swarmed the blade. The victor, entranced, lifted it, licked—and collapsed instantly.

Eerie. But Anning didn’t linger. She shattered a crystal ball.

Contained Artifact No. 36594: the Shadowless Lamp. Light flooded the room, banishing every shadow. The humanoids’ source severed. No more rebirth.

Tiles shattered under her feet. Recoil launched her forward. She skirted the poisoned dagger, sword flashing straight for Mr. Zhang’s throat.

Since the last Witch’s Night, she’d prepared Contained Artifacts for this mastermind.

Abnormals weren’t so different from humans—perhaps just enhanced versions. Faster. Stronger. Smarter… yet burdened with greater desires, more abundant **, instincts harder to suppress. Even the weakest Abnormal outmatched the strongest human in destruction—but low birth rates, savage individualism, and arrogance lost them the war.

Now, after years of near-assimilation… had they learned human humility? Meticulous strategy?

Anning didn’t know. So she prepared for every possibility.

She’d even planned her next move if he blocked this strike—

*Shhk.*

A soft tear of blade through flesh.

The short sword pierced the old man’s throat. The Bianju had slain the mastermind.

No blood flowed.

Like a popped balloon, the fragile skin split—revealing darkness within.

*Boom—*

Thunder rolled again. The world bleached white. Through the glare, Mr. Zhang smiled gently.

“Silly child,” he murmured. “A junior staffer joked recently: the more cunning one is, the easier to fall into unforeseen traps. Humans have limits—strength, wisdom… all of it.”

He smirked, fingers leisurely parting the throat wound.

Like unzipping a zipper or splitting bamboo, the inch-long gash stretched wide, exposing a corrupted core—dark yet faintly shimmering.

“Humans have limits. Abnormals do too. To break them? Simply… stop being human. Stop being an Abnormal.”

“So I am no longer an Abnormal, child.”

He exhaled slowly, cheeks trembling slightly as if in agony. Skin peeled away—from throat to abdomen, scalp to jaw.

Literally, he split open.

Anning tried to recall the Bianju. Failed.

She could only watch as the old man shed his shell like a chrysalis, transforming into a being resembling the jet-black humanoids—yet its form shimmered with brilliant, starry hues.