The mountain's underbelly reeked of wet limestone and crushed glowworms. Wolf Spider's chitinous legs vibrated at 0.8 Hz—precisely matching the tunnel's natural resonance frequency to mask its movement. Kung Fu Fly's compound eyes decomposed the darkness into hexagonal grids, each facet registering Yang Chengji's lingering body heat as ultraviolet smears on stone.
"Target trajectory confirmed. Deviation angle 0.7° southwest."
Four Treabytes' analysis scrolled across Lin Hao's retinas as he lay motionless in his dormitory bunk. The smuggler's tunnel pulsed in his mind—a glowing intestine winding through bedrock, its walls studded with phosphorescent stones that wept faint trails of cobalt luminescence. Each step Yang took left chemical footprints: bergamot-scented hair oil, traces of dragon-scale powder from his ceremonial armor.
The decoy swarm emerged like inkblots spreading across parchment. Thirteen identical cloaked figures dispersed through moonlit birch groves, their boots crunching frozen ferns in perfect synchronization. Kung Fu Fly's antennae twitched—filtering the true Yang's signature through layers of olfactory camouflage.
"Third from the left. Sweat pH 5.3 matching earlier samples."
Lin Hao's lips curled as Wolf Spider scaled a frost-rimed pine. Below, the real Yang paused beside a half-frozen stream, his reflection fracturing in the black water. Ice crystals formed intricate filigree around his boots—a telltale side effect of the jade pendant's overclocked defensive field.
"Arrogant fool."
The words left Yang's lips as steam sculptures. Kung Fu Fly's tympanal membranes captured every vibration: "Does the emperor truly believe his precious assassins can touch me?"
Wolf Spider's spinnerets began weaving containment silk—fibers doped with paralysis toxins synthesized from midnight belladonna. Lin Hao's tongue registered the phantom bitterness of the neurotoxin cocktail, his adrenal glands flooding with hunter's anticipation.
The riverbank transformed into a tactical map. Fallen logs became potential ambush points, eddy currents marked escape routes, owl hoots timed distraction intervals. Yang's hand drifted toward his pendant—a habitual tic Four Treabytes logged as his pre-combat ritual.
"Initiate phase three."
Kung Fu Fly dive-bombed a snowdrift, wings churning powder into a miniature blizzard. Yang's head snapped left—precisely 1.3 seconds of diverted attention. Wolf Spider struck from the right, silk strands glistening with frozen venom as they wrapped around the jade pendant's chain.
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The explosion of defensive qi tasted like burnt wiring. Lin Hao's teeth buzzed as the pendant's containment field overloaded, its emerald glow dying with a sound like shattering wineglasses. Yang's scream never left his throat—Wolf Spider's fangs found the gap between mandible and jugular, injecting enough neurotoxin to paralyze a frost mammoth.
"Harvest the eyes last. They'll fetch premium prices on the black market."
Lin Hao's command carried the clinical detachment of a surgeon. Through Kung Fu Fly's perspective, he watched Yang's fingers twitch in final defiance—a failed attempt to crush the emergency signal talisman hidden in his sleeve lining. The river swallowed the corpse with minimal splashing, its dark waters erasing all evidence before the next patrol cycle.
Dawn's first light found Wolf Spider back in its tree hollow, digestive enzymes already breaking down residual venom. Kung Fu Fly perched on a dormitory windowsill, its wings dusted with pollen-sized surveillance drones. Lin Hao's pillow retained the cold imprint of his absence, the scent of bergamot and blood long scrubbed from his skin by lemon verbena soap.
The Rune Jade Pendant
Years of evading assassination attempts had calcified Yang Chengji's arrogance. His nasal cavity still carried the burnt almond scent of the last failed ambush—two poisoned crossbow bolts dissolving in his tea. The rune jade pendant at his throat pulsed with protective qi, its carved phoenix glowing like bottled lightning.
The attack came as Yang visualized himself enthroned. Kung Fu Fly's wings sliced air molecules with subsonic precision, talons aimed at the C3 vertebra. Yang's carotid artery throbbed in time with the pendant's defensive field activation—a golden latticework erupting from the jade that smelled of overheated copper.
"Insect?!"
Yang's sword left its scabbard with a sound like ice cracking across a frozen lake. The blade's edge glowed toxic green—Frost Viper Venom Grade VII. Kung Fu Fly's compound eyes decomposed the attack into 8,000 individual vectors, laser beams from its ocular implants vaporizing the poison mist before impact.
The scent of smoldering pine needles filled the clearing as laser met qi shield. Yang's pendant grew hot enough to blister skin, its protective matrix flickering like a dying star. Wolf Spider's spinnerets secreted neurotoxic silk that tasted of bitter almonds—a cocktail brewed from midnight belladonna and despair.
Yang's sword dance became frantic. His boots crushed frost-rimed ferns into chlorophyll-scented pulp. "Windshadow Barrage!" he screamed, the technique that had decimated seventeen assassins now reduced to silver afterimages against Kung Fu Fly's laser grid.
The pendant shattered with a sound like breaking porcelain. Yang's final desperate lunge froze mid-air—Wolf Spider's fangs injecting enough paralysis toxin to drop a war elephant. His last conscious sensation was the metallic tang of his own blood spray freezing in mid-air, Kung Fu Fly's talons reflecting crimson in the moonlight as they severed his spinal column.
Death came as a chemical equation—dopamine levels spiking 300% during the severed nerve signals' final cascade. Yang's detached head witnessed Wolf Spider dissolving his jade pendant in digestive enzymes, the artifact's residual qi sparking blue flames in the creature's mandibles.
