Bang—
At the same time, a powerful arm smashed through the door.
This was no human arm. It was broad, muscular, and bronze-colored, with bulging steel-like muscles. The back of the massive hand was covered in sinister-looking scales, and its four fingers ended in several-centimeter-long nails—hard, sharp, like blades.
The instant Gao Yang dove on top of Pang Jun, the claws tore through the door behind them, slicing into Gao Yang's left arm.
The claws shivered with excitement at the taste of blood and immediately began tearing apart the door. The door, as fragile as paper, was shredded into pieces in seconds.
The beast stepped into the room, its feet crunching over shattered wood, the sound soft yet terrifying.
The main light in the room had already been turned off. Dim. Eerie red. Oppressive.
"Three. There are actually three... Ah, ahhh..." Aunt He's voice trembled with excitement, laced with inexplicable resentment and overwhelming gratitude. "All mine... all mine..."
Gao Yang crouched behind the waterbed, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm. One hand was pressed over Pang Jun's mouth, who was shaking uncontrollably, afraid to even breathe.
Soon, Gao Yang's fingers were wet—it was Pang Jun's tears of terror.
The dim light gave Gao Yang a glimpse of their enemy through the ceiling mirror.
It was indeed "Aunt He"—a middle-aged woman in her fifties wearing a janitor's uniform. Her face and torso retained a human appearance, but her limbs had morphed—grossly enlarged and muscular, tearing through her clothes and looking grotesquely disproportionate.
She walked slowly into the entryway, body trembling with excitement.
Soon, a slick, dark green tail began to protrude from her back.
Its emergence was strained, inching out accompanied by thick, murky fluid—like amniotic fluid during childbirth.
It crushed her pelvis and spine, forcing her body to hunch forward.
Finally, the tail, as thick as a thigh and two meters long, fully emerged, dragging behind her with a chilling, slithering sound.
She now looked like a lizard woman.
Watching the entire transformation, Gao Yang felt terror deep in his bones, dizziness and ringing in his ears.
In truth, aside from enduring the pain, holding his breath, and waiting to die slowly, he had no options.
He knew clearly—he was no match for this monster.
He dazed out for a moment.
He recalled the time he killed a cockroach with a slipper.
Back then, the roach darted under the bed when discovered. Gao Yang still easily drove it out and, with disgust and arrogance, smack—killed it.
Now, he felt like that helpless, hopeless cockroach.
His only hope: Qing Ling, hiding somewhere in the room.
An agonizing standoff lasted ten seconds.
Maybe only seven—Gao Yang didn't count.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh—
Three sharp throwing knives flew from the shadows toward "Aunt He's" eyes.
She swiftly raised her arm to block them.
Clang clang clang!
The knives clattered to the floor, unable to pierce her tough arms.
It was a feint.
As Aunt He blocked, Qing Ling burst out of the closet, wielding a Tang sword with both hands, aiming for her heart.
Aunt He reacted a beat too slow but was still fast. She grabbed the sword with both hands—her eight razor-sharp claws clashing with the blade, sending up sparks.
"Ah!" Qing Ling growled, channeling power from her legs, waist, and wrists to drive the sword forward.
Bang!
Aunt He was slammed against the wall but still gripped the sword tightly, protecting her heart.
Qing Ling pushed harder. The blade slowly pierced Aunt He's chest.
Raaaah!
Aunt He let out a beastly roar. Her tail lashed out, whipping Qing Ling's waist and throwing her off balance. She lost all momentum.
Aunt He seized the advantage, flinging Qing Ling along with the sword. She crashed into the standalone bathroom, shattering the tempered glass.
The wound on Aunt He's chest was deep, and she gasped in pain and fury, limping toward the fallen Qing Ling.
Whoosh—
A blanket flew over, covering Aunt He's head.
During Qing Ling's ten-second fight, Gao Yang and Pang Jun weren't idle either.
Pang Jun had thrown the blanket over Aunt He—not to stop her, but to momentarily block her vision and buy time to flee.
And flee he did—right toward the door. But in his panic, and on a floor slick with glass shards and monster slime, he slipped and fell right in front of Aunt He.
"Don't—don't kill me... Mom... save me..."
Pang Jun flailed like a fat eel, unable to get up.
Aunt He tore away the blanket and fixed her eyes on Pang Jun. These three humans were more difficult than expected. No time for enjoyment—kill one now.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh—
Three more knives flew out, piercing Aunt He's eyes.
Her eyeballs burst. Blood poured down.
"Ahhh..."
She flailed wildly. "My eyes! My eyes...!"
At the same time, Gao Yang's hands trembled, but he didn't stop.
—You're useless.
—Nothing you do matters. You can't change anything, so don't be nervous.
—Just do it. You're already here. It's the taking part that counts.
Through this strange form of self-comfort, he miraculously calmed himself.
As Pang Jun threw the blanket, Gao Yang had crept to the entryway, picked up the fallen sword, and cut the hair dryer's power cord.
Then he plugged the dryer into the wall.
Not enough length!
He gritted his teeth, grabbed the Tang sword, and stabbed Aunt He in the thigh. The stab was shallow. She lashed out—he dodged, but his nose was scratched, blood dripping down.
Blinded, Aunt He didn't pursue. She grabbed the sword in her leg, trying to pull it out—but it wouldn't budge.
A hidden force pressed down on the blade.
Qing Ling lay on the ground, arms outstretched, blood at her lips: "Do it!"
Gao Yang pressed the frayed cord onto the blade.
No sparks like in movies—just a low buzz. Aunt He went limp and dropped to her knees.
She didn't pass out, tried to get up.
Gao Yang shocked her again.
Aunt He spasmed violently and collapsed.
She still tried to rise, her tail thrashing.
Any normal human would've died—or at least passed out.
Qing Ling rose silently. She yanked the sword from Aunt He's thigh and plunged it into her chest.
Aunt He screamed, still struggling.
"Help!" Qing Ling shouted.
Gao Yang dropped the cord, ran over, and pushed the sword forward with Qing Ling.
Finally—the blade pierced Aunt He's chest, pinning her to the pink wall in a grotesque scene.
Qing Ling was covered in wounds and utterly spent. She leaned back into Gao Yang's chest—he could feel her pounding heartbeat.
After a few seconds of silence, she turned and collapsed onto the waterbed, barely conscious, her white robe soaked in blood.
Gao Yang's mind was blank. Holding his injured shoulder, he stood amidst the wreckage—a stinking, bloody, chaotic room.
The air reeked of something like rotting eggs and burning plastic, with hints of menthol and mustard.
His stomach turned—he knelt before Aunt He's corpse and vomited.
Pang Jun wasn't idle—he rushed to block the door. "Good thing no one else is on this floor."
"I thought you said only one room was left?" Gao Yang wiped his mouth.
"Heh, I lied. Business's been terrible lately."
Pang Jun waddled over to dress Gao Yang's wound.
"Bro..."
"I'm younger than you."
"From now on, you're my big bro."
He turned to Qing Ling: "And she's my sis-in-law!"
Qing Ling said nothing—but the killing intent radiating from her exhausted body was unmistakable.
"Bro, I got a question. How'd you know Aunt He was off?"
"The sound." Gao Yang answered wearily. "A cleaning lady should have a cart. When she left, I didn't hear any wheels."
"Damn, sharp!" Pang Jun slapped his thigh. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"Of course he's sharp! That's my bro—brain like a steel trap!"
Gao Yang jumped—turned around.
It was Wang Zikai.