Chapter 379: Perhaps It Can Truly Succeed

Qin Zhixia did not stab at Xiao Zhang.

She stabbed herself.

The normal process is: Obscure Infused Blade, and the blade outputs destructive power.

A person is the operator, not the fuel.

But Qin Zhixia thrust the Obscure‑infused blade into her own shoulder, and then infused Obscure into her own body.

"What is the principle of 'Obscure'?"

It squeezes an object's lifespan, converting time into destructive power.

When attached to a blade, it squeezes the blade's lifespan. The Alloy Bayonet, from brand‑new to scrap, is compressed into a single slash.

What about when it attaches to a human body?

It squeezes a person's lifespan.

"You're insane—"

Xiao Zhang's voice had just left his mouth when it was drowned in white light.

Obscure energy poured directly into Qin Zhixia's neural network.

Heart.

Spinal cord.

Brain.

Her high ponytail underwent an irreversible transformation within three seconds.

The black receded from the hair roots at a speed like ink being sucked out. The replacement color was neither gray nor silver—rather a near‑transparent, crystal‑clear pure white, each strand reflecting a cold, sharp glimmer like frost on eyelashes.

Three seconds earlier, she was a disheveled woman with a black ponytail, her whole body drenched in blood.

Three seconds later, she became something else.

White hair rose in the night wind. Ultra‑fine white patterns appeared on her skin surface, like cracks in porcelain or fissures beneath ice. Those patterns spread along her right arm to the fingertips, then crawled from the clavicle up her neck.

Xiao Zhang stepped back.

He didn't choose to retreat; his body moved on its own.

He had lived over twenty years. During his years as a police officer, he had seen every kind of outlaw—knife‑wielders, gunmen, those who blew themselves up with explosives. After mutation, he had even fought various opponents.

But he had never felt anything like this before.

A sense of oppression.

Not a crushing force, but a deeper, instinct‑level alarm.

Like the tingling that surges through a mouse's spine when a cat fixes its gaze—no cerebral analysis needed, every cell screams the same signal:

Run.

Qin Zhixia lowered her head.

White fragments of hair hung over her forehead, covering most of her face. Her breathing was shallow and light, like a blade just removed from a furnace still radiating heat.

Then she lifted her head.

In those Crimson Phoenix Eyes, the pupil color changed. It was neither the weird red nor the deep blue—rather an extremely pale, almost colorless translucence, like paper burned through, like the base hue left after "Obscure" has sucked all colors dry.

She looked at Xiao Zhang.

Every Bone Spike inside Xiao Zhang detonated simultaneously.

It was not an attack. It was defense.

It was a fear‑driven, unconscious, pure reflex.

Hundreds of pale‑red Bone Spikes shot outward from his spine, ribs, and scapular area in all directions, weaving an airtight three‑dimensional shield around his body. The gaps between spikes were no more than two centimeters, all tips pointing outward, like a hedgehog that had blown its quills up and curled into a ball.

At the same time, the Crimson Core in his waist‑abdomen throbbed wildly, shifting its position from the left side of his waist to deeper near the spine—dodging.

Instinct is dodging.

But Qin Zhixia had already moved.

No run‑up, no charge, not even an observable starting motion.

A white beam cut out from the shadows of the ruins.

Xiao Zhang's defensive Bone Spike array had a simple design logic—hardness. The density of the hundreds of Mutated Bone Spines approached that of tungsten alloy; even armor‑piercing rounds would ricochet.

The white beam struck the first layer of spikes.

The Bone Spikes shattered—not broken, but disintegrated at the molecular level. Like ice shards meeting hot water—Qin Zhixia, after Obscure Infusion, wherever the flowing white patterns on her body reached, every muscle's "lifespan" was being wildly compressed, thereby unleashing strength far beyond that of ordinary humans.

Qin Zhixia pierced through the first layer.

The second layer of spikes was denser and thicker; Xiao Zhang even stripped his own ribs to reinforce the defense.

To no avail.

A Bone Spike that hadn't yet disintegrated pierced her left shoulder. Its tip emerged from behind the scapula, trailing a string of blood beads. Her right outer thigh also took a hit—a thumb‑thick Bone Spike drove in three inches, lodging against the femur.

Qin Zhixia didn't stop.

She didn't even frown.

Obscure was burning her lifespan. The pain nerves weren't blocked—they simply couldn't transmit signals in time. Her biological clock was spinning at an incomprehensible speed, a month, a year, even several years of life ground into powder, becoming fuel that kept this overloaded body running.

So she felt no pain.

Or rather, pain no longer made it into the priority list.

There was only one thing in her eyes.

In the spot two inches left of Xiao Zhang's right rib, the Crimson Crystal that was attempting to escape toward the spine—its beating frequency grew faster, and the surrounding flesh buds went mad, proliferating as if trying to encase the core with another protective layer.

Qin Zhixia's right hand—her only remaining intact arm—gripped the last Alloy Bayonet.

No. Wrong.

It's not a bayonet anymore.

The ignorant white energy poured along Qin Zhixia's finger bones into the blade, the metal molecules on the edge were intensely stimulated, the entire Bayonet turned from silvery‑gray to a blinding pallor, its edge outline began to blur, like a Light Blade being burned to the point of vaporization.

Xiao Zhang let out a howl.

It wasn't words. It was fear.

Crimson granulation burst from Xiao Zhang's body, breaking free of the skeletal framework, exploding outward like detonated blood‑colored fireworks. Red vines filled the sky, entangling bone fragments and Mutated Tissue, spewing from every pore, every wound, every joint gap, weaving in the air a sky‑blocking Blood Spike Net.

That was all of Xiao Zhang's power.

All.

Leaving no room.

Under the Blood Net that covered his head.

Qin Zhixia did not dodge.

Qin Zhixia took the final step.

The granules at the edge of the Blood Net touched the white markings on Qin Zhixia's skin and immediately began to disintegrate, like dry leaves meeting flame. Yet the Blood Net was too dense and thick—some part pierced the disintegrating layer and firmly lodged into Qin Zhixia's body.

Left calf. Side of the waist.

Two new penetrating wounds.

Blood spurted from the wounds, vaporized by the ignorant energy field into pink Blood Mist. Qin Zhixia's white hair was stained by the mist, the tips bearing red droplets, looking like a red‑and‑white flower blooming amid ruins.

But Qin Zhixia's pupils never moved.

From start to finish, Qin Zhixia stared only at that spot.

Right rib, slightly left, two inches.

The Bayonet pierced in.

The ignorant white light penetrated all of Xiao Zhang's remaining defenses. Mutated Muscle, regenerated Bone Spike, wildly proliferating granules—before this blade about to vaporize, they were no different from paper‑thin.

The tip of the blade touched the surface of the Crimson Crystal.

The crystal trembled.

It screamed.

Xiao Zhang spat out a mouthful of blood— not the dark‑red Mutated Blood, but bright red, normal human blood.

Qin Zhixia pierced the crystal, rotating her wrist forty‑five degrees.

She twisted it to shatter.

White light seeped out from Xiao Zhang's body cavity.

From the gaps between ribs, from the curve of the clavicle, from the eye sockets, mouth, nostrils—every bodily opening leaked light outward. That light was not projected; it was "burned" out from within. The Crimson Crystal was completely disintegrated by the ignorant energy; the fragments, before they could scatter, evaporated entirely in the white light.

The chain reaction was instantaneous.

Deprived of Core supply, all of Xiao Zhang's surface Mutated Tissue began to necrose in the same second. Bone Spikes became brittle, fractured, turned to ash. Crimson granules turned into withered dark brown, like ten‑year‑old dried bacon scraps, peeling off him piece by piece.

Xiao Zhang's body was shrinking.

From a Mutated Body Type of 2.3 meters, back to 1.78 meters. Without the overgrown muscle and bone fill, his skin appeared hollow, like a garment several sizes too large.

When he fell, his knees hit the ground first.

Then his palms.

Finally his side of the face pressed against the cold cement floor.

Qin Zhixia pulled out the Bayonet. Or rather, she extracted the remaining hilt of that Bayonet—the blade itself had completely vaporized in the final strike.

She was also unsteady on her feet.

The Exoskeleton had six locations flashing red overload alarms; the penetrating wounds on the right leg and left shoulder still bled; her high ponytail—now white—had fallen, strands stained with blood clinging to her cheek.

She lowered her head to look at Xiao Zhang.

Xiao Zhang lay on the ground, his back to the sky.

No Bone Spikes. No dark‑red pupils. No metallic voice that made the scalp tingle.

Lying there was a young man in his twenties. Crew‑cut.

Exactly the same as in the file photo.

Exactly the same as when he first reported to the Project Team.

Xiao Zhang's lips moved. Blood stained the corner, yet he truly smiled.

"Qin Team."

His voice was soft, hoarse, but at least sounded human.

Qin Zhixia said nothing. Something blocked her throat.

"In this state you are now," Xiao Zhang's pupils slowly turned, focusing on Qin Zhixia's face riddled with white cracks and blood stains. "Really like... those movie... heroes who can save the world."

He coughed. The blood flowing from his mouth corner was normal red.

"I misjudged," his voice grew fainter, the gaps between words lengthening. "I thought this world was rotten beyond repair, that no one could fix it."

"But"

"Qin Team, if it's you now, if you can keep moving forward like this... you might truly succeed, and this world might indeed be saved."

His right hand groped the cement floor, as if searching for something. There was nothing. The badge had long since shattered.

"But I no longer have the right to stand by your side," he closed his eyes, the smile still at his mouth corner. "Thank you, for being able to replace that former me, to replace Team Zhou..."

"Keep going."

The voice faded.

Qin Zhixia stood there. Her white hair fell down, covering her eyes.

The ruins were quiet. The battle cries of Su Ming and Yan Ming in the next room also subsided at some point—likely because Yan Ming discovered what was happening here.

Qin Zhixia bent over, pulling the last blade from the Bayonet rack on her back.

The tenth. Also the last.

She knelt on one knee.

She was very close to Xiao Zhang's face. Close enough to see the dust and blood stains on his eyelashes.

His breathing was already shallow. But there was still.

Qin Zhixia's eyes were bloodshot.

But the hand holding the knife was frighteningly steady.

"I will."

She raised the knife.

Then she brought it down.

Clean and decisive.

She cut off his pain and sins.

Where the blade passed, the smile line on Xiao Zhang's face did not change a hair.

As if suddenly turning his head, his ill‑fitting police uniform was exactly the same as when he first joined.