Chapter 14: The Gift I Prepared Especially for Zu

Remote-cutting the data connection to the puppet, Alvin destroyed all evidence.

Leaving not a single clue, and confirming his identity would not be exposed, he drove away from the abandoned farmstead.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, Alvin pondered in his mind what he would do next.

But midway through the drive, he suddenly felt dizzy and disoriented, as if he had pulled an all-nighter after a massive hangover and then run a marathon—completely drained.

Alvin instantly slammed on the brakes; the tires screeched against the road, a brief, piercing noise slicing through the silence.

Soon, the inexplicable dizziness and fatigue faded.

But in its place came a profound dehydration, as if every ounce of his physical energy had been squeezed out.

Alvin’s entire body was soaked in sweat, as if he had just been pulled from a lake; his eyes, once full of vitality, now brimmed with deep exhaustion.

He tried to summon his “psychic energy,” but nothing happened.

From last afternoon, when he injected the Temporary Compound No. 5 and awakened his psychic energy, until just now, exactly twenty-four hours had passed.

It felt like a beautiful dream—except now the dream was over.

“No, no, the psychic energy is still there.”

Suddenly, Alvin frowned; he could still clearly sense a power hidden deep within his soul.

The difference was, now that he wanted to draw upon this power, it became excruciatingly difficult—like using human strength to pry open a hundred-meter mountain, nearly impossible.

“Of course—this body originally possessed psychic energy. Temporary Compound No. 5 acted as a fulcrum, infinitely amplifying my innate mental strength, allowing me to pry it open.”

Alvin quickly grasped the key insight and smiled with relief: “If injecting Compound No. 5 made me an Eta-level psychic, capable of freely using psychic energy, then this body’s original psychic potential must have been Omron-level.”

In the Empire’s twenty-tier classification system, only Eta-level and above counted as true psychics; Omron-level was barely even considered to have any psychic ability at all.

Except for a tiny fraction of people who unconsciously unleashed psychic energy in life-or-death situations, most spent their entire lives unable to consciously control it.

No doubt, the original body’s survival against the cultist psychics was due to this very reason.

“Fortunately, I knew not to put all my eggs in one basket.”

Alvin gently massaged his temples, his gaze regaining its resolve: “So what if I’m Omron-level? Once I inject the permanent compound, I’ll be a true Eta-level psychic—then even in the Undercity, I’ll have the power to protect myself!”

He knew well: psychic energy was a double-edged sword; the more one indulged in it, the deeper one sank into the Abyss of the Warp.

Yet danger lurked everywhere in the Warhammer universe, and cultists surrounded the Undercity—he knew the path ahead was a firepit, but he had no choice but to leap in.

At least... even if it delayed his death by a single second, it was worth it!

Gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, Alvin pressed the accelerator; his refined face hardened with determination: “Even if thorns cover the path ahead, I will carve a way through—I won’t die, and I won’t die in the Undercity like trash, forgotten until I rot and stink!”

“I will survive!!!”

On the empty highway, Alvin’s roar echoed through the endless night.

The suppressed emotions released at last; he laughed aloud, driving into the depths of the night.

The next day, Butcher, hiding in his secret base, received a call from Alvin.

And Alvin’s first words on the other end nearly killed Butcher with shock.

“Butcher... do you want to kill the Patriot?”

Butcher’s pupils shrank; he forced his contorted face into calm, lowering his voice: “Are you insane? Do you know what you’re saying? That’s the Patriot!”

“I know exactly what I want to do. It’s you who doesn’t know what you want, Butcher.”

On the phone, Alvin’s voice was light and relaxed—as if he hadn’t just suggested murdering the Patriot.

Glancing at his companions in the base, Butcher slipped quietly to a secluded spot, covering the phone’s mouth, and growled: “What the hell are you getting at, Alvin?”

“Don’t you think there are too many superhumans in this world?”

Alvin’s casual words struck Butcher’s heart like a sledgehammer—his pulse halted for a second, then pounded faster.

“Butcher, have you ever imagined what the world would be like without superhumans?”

“Gods belong in stories, not in reality—especially when a madman becomes a god in the people’s eyes, only dragging the nation to ruin, isn’t that right?”

Blood surged to Butcher’s skull, violently crashing against his reason and thoughts; he gritted his teeth: “This is your real plan? Kill every superhuman? Alvin... you’re a madman!”

“If a madman holds the button to destroy the world, would you place your hope in his kindness?”

Alvin’s calm tone was like Mephistopheles whispering to Faust, stirring the demon deep within Butcher: “Now, who do you think is the madman?”

“Don’t forget—your wife was raped by the Patriot, and you were powerless to stop it.”

“You once worked with the CIA, secretly handling many operations—precisely because of that, you know better than anyone what superhumans truly are.”

These words added a final, crushing weight to the already tipping scale in Butcher’s heart.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted in furious rage, like a beast stripped of reason, breathing heavily like an ox.

“Butcher, this world is sick.”

Alvin’s low, hoarse voice carried pity and compassion—as if truly mourning the entire world: “Those with superpowers are the disease’s root. We must remove the root to restore the world to health.”

Only heavy breathing remained on the line.

After a long silence, Butcher seemed to endure a brutal inner struggle; finally, guided by his truest desires, he tipped the scale: “What... are you going to do?”

“The day after tomorrow, I’ll make the Patriot appear alone in one place.”

Alvin withheld part of the plan deliberately: “I’ll give you three doses of Temporary Compound No. 5. When you see the signal, we’ll ambush and kill the Patriot together.”

“You’re sure he’ll be alone?”

Butcher frowned, skeptical: “What if other ‘Titans’ show up?”

“Don’t worry—no other ‘Titans’ will appear.”

Alvin gave him reassurance: “I guarantee that day, only the Patriot will be there. And I have a drug that will temporarily strip him of his powers.”

“Fine—I’ll trust you this once!”

Butcher, too, seemed to have slipped into madness, his eyes filled with murderous intent: “Even if we can’t kill him, we’ll at least cripple him!”

He hung up.

Alvin toyed with the Temporary Compound No. 5, a faint smile curling his lips: “Perfect. All conditions are now in place. Just waiting for the final moment.”

From the start, Butcher had walked straight into his trap.

Because, fundamentally, the plan to exterminate superhumans was Butcher’s own truest desire—the very action he would eventually take.

Alvin merely exploited Butcher’s rage, accelerating the timeline slightly, and unleashed that demon.

Are you ready, Zu?

Now comes the “fan meeting.”

Of course, the fan might be a little... enthusiastic—but I’m sure Zu will love the gift I’ve prepared for him!