Tòumíng looked at Hǔtān, really looked at him for the first time.
His stance was low, weight distributed precisely, one foot forward and one back with the heel raised, a textbook cat stance.
Cupid's voice cut through immediately, analytical and worried.
"That's a cat stance. This means he knows karate. And with the cat stance combined with a spear-type weapon like the guandao, the user can execute a two-inch burst dash from that position plus utilize the six-foot reach of the blade. Which means his effective striking range is over eight feet with almost instant acceleration. Your only chance is to put distance between you and him. A LOT of distance."
A bead of sweat rolled down Tòumíng's cheek despite the cool air in the abandoned office building.
He grinned anyway, the kind of grin that was more desperation than confidence.
"Can I see what's behind that door?" he asked, gesturing toward the exit.
"No," Cupid replied flatly.
Tòumíng activated Ore Sense, his eyes glowing blue, hoping he could see through the walls to map an escape route-
NOTIFICATION: ORE SENSE LIMITATION
Ore Sense only functions on natural minerals and geological formations. Manufactured materials such as concrete, drywall, and metal do not register. Skill cannot penetrate artificial structures.
SHIT!
Tòumíng tried to look confident, tried to maintain that grin, but internally he was screaming.
He was going to die here. Actually die. Cupid had said it himself, this might be the one that stuck.
He needed that speed boost. Needed the edge that Naked Gun could provide.
Time for a one-liner.
"Honestly, you'd think by now I'd get better at not getting my ass kicked, am I right?"
NAKED GUN ACTIVATED - PARTIAL
One-liner quality: Moderate (Self-deprecating humor, decent timing, lacks impact)
Speed boost: +60%
Strength boost: None (insufficient quality)
Duration: 60 seconds
Not the full buff, but the speed was what he needed. Good enough!
"IT'S TIME TO DIP!" Tòumíng yelled and immediately sprinted for the door.
He grabbed the handle and yanked. The door didn't budge. Locked. Of course it was fucking locked.
He jiggled the handle frantically, panic rising, his enhanced speed making his movements blur—
He felt it. A shift in air pressure. The whisper of displaced air that meant something large was moving fast toward his back.
Tòumíng dove to the side on pure instinct.
The guandao's blade slammed into the door right where he'd been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
The impact was devastating—the heavy blade sheared through the door's hinges like they were made of paper, metal and wood exploding in splinters.
Tòumíng grinned through his fear.
"IT'S OPEN!"
He scrambled to his feet and burst through the damaged door just as Hǔtān pulled the guandao back for another strike.
The blade slashed through the air, catching Tòumíng's shirt and slicing through the fabric, missing his actual skin by millimeters.
Tòumíng didn't care.
HE WAS FAST AS FUCK, BOI!
He ran down the hallway at speeds that would've been impossible before his buffs, his feet barely touching the ground, his enhanced perception making everything seem slower even though he was moving faster.
Doors lined both sides of the hallway. Tòumíng kicked one open without slowing down, the lock mechanism shattering under the impact, and dove inside.
The room was filled with cubicles.
Rows and rows of abandoned office workstations, computer monitors still sitting on desks, papers scattered everywhere, the remnants of whatever legitimate business had once operated here before the gang took over.
PERFECT HIDING SPOT.
Tòumíng ran to one of the cubicles and ducked down, pressing himself against the particleboard divider, trying to control his breathing even though his heart was hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears.
Footsteps entered the room. Slow. Measured. Confident.
Hǔtān's voice cut through the silence, calm and terrifying.
"I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING. I AM NOT A CHILD. DON'T TOY WITH ME WITH GAMES OF CAT AND MOUSE."
Tòumíng thought he was bullshitting. There was no way someone could hear something as quiet as breathing from across a room filled with cubicles—
AGHHHHH!
The guandao blade pierced through the cubicle divider from above, stabbing downward with brutal force, missing Tòumíng's head by inches.
The blade punched through the particleboard like tissue paper, the point embedding in the carpet beside his leg.
FUCK THIS!
Tòumíng dove forward, rolled, came up on his feet and grabbed the office chair from the adjacent cubicle.
He hurled it at Hǔtān with all his strength.
Hǔtān's response was immediate—the guandao came around in a horizontal slash that cut the chair perfectly in half mid-flight, both pieces falling harmlessly to either side.
Tòumíng nearly shit his pants.
His hands rested on the desk of another cubicle, finding it covered in random office supplies, pens, computer mice, erasers, a small potted plant that had long since died, staplers, paperweights.
RANDOM BULLSHIT, GO!
He started hurling everything. Pens flew through the air like darts. Erasers became projectiles.
The dead potted plant sailed in an arc. Computer mice spun end-over-end.
A stapler. A tape dispenser. A coffee mug with "World's Best Employee" printed on it.
Hǔtān deflected most of them with casual swings of the guandao, the blade moving too fast to track, creating a defensive barrier that nothing could penetrate.
Tòumíng ran out of small objects.
"Grab the monitor!" Cupid yelled.
"NO! What about the RAM in it?! I need a new PC! That's like, valuable hardware!"
"YOU WON'T NEED A PC WHEN YOU'RE DEAD!"
Tòumíng grabbed the monitor, it was old, heavy, one of those massive CRT models from the early 2000s that weighed like forty pounds? and hurled it at Hǔtān with everything he had.
Hǔtān was mid-slash, his blade committed to deflecting a stapler. The monitor came in from his blind side.
Tòumíng didn't wait to see if it connected. He dove under Hǔtān's extended arms, rolled across the floor, came up sprinting, and kept running toward the exit.
"FUCK, I'M TOO SOFT FOR THIS!" he yelled as he ran, his voice cracking with genuine terror.
He reached for the door handle—
Hǔtān calculated the distance.
His eyes tracked Tòumíng's trajectory. His arm wound back, muscles coiling with practiced precision.
He threw the guandao like a spear.
The weapon spun through the air end-over-end, the blade catching the fluorescent light, moving faster than anything that heavy should be able to move.
It missed Tòumíng's head by an inch, embedding itself in the doorframe with enough force to crack the wood.
"DUDE, NO FAIR!"
Tòumíng screamed as he yanked the door open. "WHAT'S WITH THE AUTO-AIM?!"
He burst into the hallway and kept running, his enhanced speed carrying him forward in a blur.
Down the hall, Scarface appeared from around a corner, looking confused as he registered Tòumíng booking it toward him at superhuman speeds.
"GET OUT THE FUCKING WAY!" Tòumíng yelled.
Scarface started to say something, probably asking what was happening—
Tòumíng drop-kicked him. Both feet extended, his full momentum behind the impact. Scarface went down hard, his already-injured jaw taking another hit as his head bounced off the floor.
Tòumíng didn't stop. He spotted stairs leading up and took them three at a time, his legs burning, his lungs screaming for air, but the adrenaline and speed buff keeping him moving faster than he'd ever moved in his life.
Behind him, he could hear Hǔtān's footsteps. Still calm. Still measured. Still coming.