Tòumíng ran toward the elevator and frantically pressed the button. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing happened. The display stayed dark. No hum of machinery. No movement.
"NO SHIT, IT'S BECAUSE THERE'S NO POWER!" he screamed at himself, realizing the abandoned building obviously wouldn't have working elevators.
He turned back around and saw Hǔtān charging up the stairs, his massive frame moving with terrifying grace despite his size, the guandao gripped in one hand like it weighed nothing.
"SHIT!"
Tòumíng booked it further upstairs, taking the steps desperately, his enhanced speed the only thing keeping him ahead.
He burst through a door on the third floor and found himself in what looked like a mechanical room, old pipes running along the walls and ceiling, a massive boiler system in the corner that probably hadn't been used in years, valves and gauges covered in dust.
A boiler room.
Tòumíng grinned despite his terror. New plan. Lure Hǔtān in here. Explode the building.
Take Hǔtān out with him and hope—HOPE—that Schrödinger's Heart would let him survive what a normal person couldn't.
But he couldn't let Hǔtān know the plan. Had to distract him long enough. Had to make it look like a fight, not a trap.
Tòumíng got into a fighting stance, fists raised, trying to look confident even though every instinct screamed at him to run.
Hǔtān eventually reached the top of the stairs and entered the boiler room. He hadn't broken a single sweat. Wasn't even breathing hard. Looked like he'd just been taking a casual stroll instead of chasing someone through an abandoned building.
Tòumíng was catching his breath, gasping, his lungs burning, sweat pouring down his face.
Shit.
The only thing left to do now was fight.
Tòumíng got low, shifting his weight, preparing to throw a full-body-weight uppercut—putting everything into one devastating punch that might, MIGHT give him an opening—
Hǔtān moved.
Not fast. Not rushed. Just efficient.
He grabbed Tòumíng's extended arm mid-punch with one hand, his grip like iron, and delivered a precise karate chop to the joint with his other hand.
The sound was sickening. A wet CRACK as Tòumíng's forearm dislocated from his elbow, the bones separating, tendons tearing.
Tòumíng screamed. Pure, animal agony. He dropped to the floor, rolling, clutching his ruined arm, the pain so intense his vision went white.
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Hǔtān looked down at him with something that might have been pity.
"I take no pleasure in torturing a child."
He walked over to retrieve his guandao from where he'd set it down.
"Stay still. I'll make this quick."
Tòumíng was in so much pain.
Oh god, the pain was bad.
So, so, SO bad.
His entire arm felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming, his body convulsing involuntarily as it tried to process the trauma.
He rolled on the floor, unable to control his movements, tears streaming down his face.
Cupid's voice cut through the agony.
"I'm about to artificially release enough adrenaline and endorphins to give you the strength to lift a car. When I do, you need to lure Hǔtān to the boiler. Understand?"
"Not yet," Tòumíng managed to gasp out between screams. "Wait till I say so."
Hǔtān raised the guandao above his head, the blade positioned for a clean decapitation. "I'm sorry it came to this."
The blade came down—
Tòumíng gritted his teeth through the pain and threw his dislocated arm up to shield his neck.
The guandao's blade went THROUGH his arm. Clean through. Severing muscle, tendon, bone. The blade stopped just short of his neck, lodged in his forearm.
Tòumíng writhed in pain that transcended description. His arm was ruined. Destroyed. Barely attached.
Hǔtān pulled the blade back, genuine regret on his face.
"Please. Just stay still. Let me end this quickly. No more pain."
But Tòumíng was too enraged to let this slide. Three years. THREE FUCKING YEARS of being under this man's thumb.
He scrambled to his feet using his good arm and RAN toward the boiler, panting and crying, blood streaming from his ruined arm, leaving a trail behind him.
Just need to not bleed out. Just need to not bleed out long enough to finish this.
He eventually backed himself into the corner near the boiler, trapped, nowhere left to run.
Hǔtān approached slowly, his expression sad.
"Don't move again. Please. I don't want to make this worse."
Tòumíng pretended to give up. Let his body sag. Closed his eyes like he was accepting death.
Hǔtān's voice softened, almost gentle. "That's right. Just relax. It'll be over soon."
He wound up the guandao for a final thrust, positioning the blade to pierce straight through Tòumíng's heart—
He thrust forward—
And stopped.
Completely froze mid-strike, the blade inches from Tòumíng's chest, his entire body locked in place like someone had hit a pause button.
Tòumíng's eyes snapped open and he chuckled through the pain. "Say hello to the Second Guess skill, bitch."
He ducked under the frozen blade and tackled Hǔtān with his full body weight, driving him backward into one of the massive boiler units.
Hǔtān's back slammed against the scalding metal surface. The heat was intense—easily over 200 degrees Fahrenheit on the exterior. His skin seared immediately, the smell of burning flesh filling the air, the tiger tattoo on his back bubbling and blackening.
But Hǔtān was still a god at karate. Pain didn't stop his training.
His hand shot out and crushed Tòumíng's windpipe, cutting off air instantly.
Then his other hand found the underside of Tòumíng's ribs and dug inward with brutal force, fingers finding the spaces between bones and BREAKING three ribs with targeted pressure.
Anything to stop being seared alive.
But Tòumíng's tenacity was insane. Beyond rational. Beyond self-preservation.
"NOW!" he yelled at Cupid, the word barely audible through his crushed windpipe.
Cupid released everything.
EMERGENCY ADRENALINE PROTOCOL ACTIVATED
Heart rate: 288 BPM
Blood pressure: 300+ mmHg systolic
Pain suppression: MAXIMUM
Duration: 180 seconds
WARNING: HOST WILL DIE AFTER DURATION EXPIRES
Cupid's voice screamed in Tòumíng's chest: "YOU WILL DIE IN 180 SECONDS! MAKE IT FUCKING COUNT!"
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Tòumíng PUSHED harder, his enhanced strength denting the metal boiler, forcing Hǔtān deeper into the searing surface even as his own hands burned from the contact.
When that didn't work, when Hǔtān still struggled, Tòumíng's hand found a valve on the boiler. The carbon monoxide release.
He unscrewed the lid.
Invisible, odorless gas started filling the small boiler room. Deadly. Accumulating with every second.
Tòumíng grinned through his destroyed windpipe, through his broken ribs, through his severed arm.
"YOU SEE HOW MUCH I HATE YOU, HǓTĀN?! DO YOU SEE HOW MUCH I WANT YOU DEAD?! I HATE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER! LET'S SAY, WIN OR LOSE, WE'RE BOTH DYING TODAY!"
For the first time, Hǔtān showed fear. Real, genuine terror in his eyes as he realized what Tòumíng had done.
While still being seared by the boiler, Tòumíng rummaged through Hǔtān's pockets with his good hand. His fingers found something small, metal, familiar.
A lighter.
The moment Hǔtān saw it, his eyes went wide. "NO!"
He shoved Tòumíng off with desperate strength, his burned back screaming in protest. He turned and RAN for the door, his composure completely shattered.
Tòumíng collapsed against the boiler, his body giving out, the 180-second timer ticking down in his mind.
He grinned one last time.
"Good riddance... boom."
He flicked the lighter.
The flame caught.