Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

"Song Dynasty".

Sun Jianjun spoke up.

His voice was calm, as if he were greeting an old friend.

"I knew you would come. From the day I saw the photos of Shikan Village, I knew this day would come."

Song Chao looked at him expressionlessly.

"When you were standing by the interrogation room wall smoking back then, did you ever imagine this day would come?"

Sun Jianjun remained silent for a long time before stubbing out his cigarette.

"I've thought about it."

His voice was honest.

"But at that time I thought that someone like you would never be able to turn your life around."

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

People in the other two rooms on the first floor of the safe house heard the gunshots and stumbled out of their rooms.

Sun Changhe was at the very front.

He was wearing pajamas, with only one slipper on his feet, and his other foot was bare, stepping into the cold bloody water, but he didn't care.

He rushed to the end of the corridor and saw Song Chao. He froze on the spot as if struck by lightning.

"How...how did you get in! There are two hundred people outside!"

His voice was shrill, like a chicken being choked.

Song Chao turned to look at him.

When Sun Changhe saw those dark red eyes, his legs went weak, and he had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.

But he quickly straightened up, a professional smile plastered on his face—the kind of professional smile he'd practiced behind the petition office window for decades.

"Song Chao, Song Chao, listen to me. I know about your situation. It's true that we didn't do our job properly back then, which caused you to suffer. But you can't put all the blame on us. I'm just a lowly director of the petition office, just someone who does things. I do what I'm told. If they say this case won't be filed, what can I do? I have a wife and children to support, and I need to eat too."

The Song Dynasty remained silent.

Sun Changhe swallowed hard, his smile widening.

"Besides, I really didn't suppress your case. I wasn't even involved at the time; it was a deputy director who signed it. I only found out about it afterward. If you had come to me earlier, I would definitely have reopened your case and helped you overturn your conviction."

At the other end of the corridor, Blackstone International's contact person huddled behind the door frame.

His name is Feng Guangcai. He worked at Blackstone International for ten years as a "government relations coordinator"—in other words, he helped mercenary companies resolve legal troubles within the Star Federation.

During his years at Blackstone, he handled at least eighty to a hundred cases of illegal immigration, arms smuggling, and mercenary gun licenses.

Each one is a get-out-of-jail-free card bought with money.

I feel perfectly justified every time I spend money on something.

I never imagined that one day I would be blocked in the door by a migrant worker.

He saw Song Chao's gaze sweep over him, and he shuddered, his lips trembling before he finally managed to squeeze out a sentence.

"It wasn't me! I was just a middleman! I only helped Tang Ming contact a few people! Those people are all abroad now! I'll help you find them! I'll implicate them all! I'll be your witness!"

Song Chao looked at him and twitched the corner of his mouth.

"Prosecuted witnesses. You commit crimes, get caught, and just say 'I'm willing to testify,' and you can get a reduced sentence, you can avoid the death penalty. The rules you set for yourselves, how convenient."

"Convenient what?!"

Sun Changhe's smile finally crumbled, and his voice began to tremble.

"Tang Dynasty! No, Song Dynasty! You can't kill me! I'm a public official! Killing me is tantamount to defying the state! The whole city is looking for you, and the Sharp Blade gang is on their way. If you stop now, I'll plead for you! I'll speak to the leaders on your behalf! You can still be saved! If you kill someone again, you're doomed!"

"What right do you have to plead for me!"

Song Chao suddenly roared.

His voice boomed through the narrow corridor, causing plaster to flake off the walls.

The blood mist in the air suddenly became several times denser, spreading violently outward from him as if someone had detonated a blood-red bomb.

Sun Changhe was sent flying by the invisible impact, crashing into the wall at the end of the corridor. His back slammed heavily against the metal door of the fire hydrant, and his spine made a crisp cracking sound.

He slid to the ground, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

"You, you dare hit me—"

Before his voice had even faded, an even more terrifying scene unfolded.

The churning blood mist behind Song Chao began to condense.

It wasn't just a simple increase in concentration; rather, it was as if an invisible hand was stirring within the blood mist, turning the scattered bloody aura into a vortex. The vortex grew larger and higher, swirling from the ground all the way up to three meters above the ceiling.

Patterns began to emerge from the vortex of blood mist.

At first, it was just a blurry outline, like someone had casually scribbled a few strokes on rice paper with a blood-stained brush.

But as the blood mist thickened, the outlines became clearer and more three-dimensional.

Everyone saw it clearly.

That was a face.

A huge, blood-red face.

It's not a human face.

It's the face of a demon.

His angular bone structure, deep-set eyes burning with two dark red flames, and two curved horns extending from the sides of his forehead, like iron bars forged in a fierce fire, covered with dense cracks.

Shura's mouth was closed, but the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned, as if he were smiling.

It was a mocking laugh.

It's that condescending smile you get when you see a bunch of ants struggling at your feet.

Its body has not yet fully solidified; only the part above the shoulders is visible in the blood mist, while the part below the shoulders is still a churning crimson.

But this one head alone already occupied the upper half of the entire corridor, completely blocking the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, and everyone was shrouded in its shadow.

Sun Changhe slumped beside the fire hydrant, looking up at the enormous, demonic face, his mouth wide open, making gurgling sounds as if something was blocking his trachea.

He saw Shura's eyes.

Those two dark red flames were not merely decorations; they were moving, leaping, and burning.

He saw himself reflected in those two flames.

It's not a reflection.

He was enveloped in flames, completely naked, kneeling in a boundless sea of ​​blood. Countless blood-red hands reached out from the sea of ​​blood, grabbing his arms, legs, neck, and hair, dragging him inch by inch into the depths of the sea of ​​blood.

He heard his own screams coming from the flames, echoing over and over again, without end.

"This...this is an illusion! It's an illusion!"

Sun Changhe screamed, clutching his head with both hands, his fingernails scratching his scalp until blood flowed down and covered his face.

"I won't look! I don't believe it! This must be a hallucination!"

He closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall.

dong dong dong.

With each impact, a new bloodstain appeared on his forehead.

But the scene within the flames did not disappear; instead, it became clearer and clearer.

Because he wasn't looking with his eyes.

It is with the soul.

The power of the Asura did not attack his retina, but was directly imprinted deep within his consciousness.

Whether his eyes are open or closed, whether he is awake or asleep, this image will be etched in his mind forever, until he dies.