Superhumans of the Dome City

Time had reverted to a few minutes earlier.

While Alice was talking with Mo Yuankai, Gongsun Ce was staring blankly at the table in the study on the second floor.

Three items lay before him: a piece of paper with hurried, alarmed cursive that read, "Extract with the syringe and then inject into your chest to suppress the dreams."

"...Where's my choice? Did you eat it?"

Gongsun said something unclear, then manipulated the scroll to float up and unfold before him.

Mo Yuankai's mention of the ink painting on the second floor wasn't just a ruse to deal with the Hunter—it was also the truth for him.

The scroll hid a unique ink painting not of mountains, rivers, flowers, or birds, but filled with image after image of swords. There were longswords, daggers, traditional single-handed swords, noble's rapiers, warriors' greatswords, and the Knight's heavy sword he had once seen...

The myriad forms of the Ink Sword differed widely in style, chaotically piled upon the paper in a manner that should have made the painting unbearable to look at. However, the artist, with his otherworldly skill and strong personal style, had overcome this inherent challenge. He brought order to chaos, and his talent leapt from the hasty strokes, exuding an arrogance and wildness out of reach for ordinary people.

"What a crappy painting."

Unfortunately, when the viewer and the artist were at odds, even the best paintings were deemed worthless. Gongsun cursed and pressed the sharp needle against the paper, at which all the swords in the painting simultaneously "moved"!

Hundreds of Ink Swords in the painting turned their direction and, like charging infantry, thrust towards the needle's point. The two-dimensional blades on the paper could not harm the three-dimensional syringe, but they collided with the needle point as though they had mass. In this senseless slaughter, the Ink Swords shattered to pieces, becoming droplets that rushed along the hollow needle into the empty syringe.

In half a minute, no more ink was seen on the scroll, and the syringe in Gongsun Ce's hand was filled with ink. Gongsun took several deep breaths in an effort to calm his nerves. He lifted his shirt and plunged the needle into his heart.

"Damn Yan Qi. I hope your thing is reliable...!"

Before he could press the plunger, the ink, once swords, surged into his body of its own accord.

"!"

His heart felt as though it had been pierced by a sword, bringing a tearing pain. Gongsun Ce slumped against the wall, just managing to pull out the needle with trembling hands before his heart stopped beating.

The next second, Gongsun Ce's eyes were obscured by a gray haze. He saw fog again, a boundless expanse of cold mist. Under the influence of some power, his memories fled, and his consciousness felt as though it was sinking into the icy sea. He knew he was about to return to the past in his memories, back to that desolate battlefield...

Letting the nightmare of Supibia continue.

Blood moon, grey fog, ruins, clock tower. The cuckoo.

When he came to, Gongsun Ce found himself once more on that familiar battlefield. He watched with an almost wooden detachment what he had witnessed countless times before: the cuckoo circling over and over, the thick fog swirling like a cyclone, and the Netherworld Dragon descending under the blood-red moonlight.

But this time, the dream did not end there.

Without a sound, Gongsun Ce's sleeves were emptied. Beneath the power of the Netherworld Dragon, the individual known as Gongsun Ce began to dissolve.

His right arm disappeared, quickly followed by his legs. Suddenly losing support, he collapsed to the ground, his head stubbornly lifting. The giant dragon's lone eye looked down, seemingly wanting to meet his gaze, or perhaps merely surveying the ruins it had wrought.

"——!"

The Netherworld Dragon raised its head, emitting a lamenting roar sounding like a cry. The noise echoed through the empty city, as if tolling the death knell for this vanquished city. The mist tumultuously billowed and swirled with its movements, like countless souls cheering for the arrival of their king!

Gongsun Ce's body also dissolved in a breath, his head rolling to the ground, while his consciousness and vision flickered for an instant.

At this moment, Gongsun Ce's vision was swamped by a golden light. The warm glow solidified his once-melting body, granting him back the power of thought.

He saw a Knight racing in the light. Though she was a frail girl, she had the courage to charge at the giant dragon. She was clad in sturdy, heavy silver armor, her weapon exuded an incomparable presence that even made the Netherworld Dragon shift its gaze!

It was a holy yet ominous greatsword.

The silver-white blade was inlaid with a dark line; the golden guard's hilt was wrapped in a blood-red band; on the pommel, three spikes of different lengths protruded, like twisted crosses thrust into the blade.

Such contradictory gear created a discomfiting strangeness. It was a dangerous armament only to be wielded in special cases, and now was the time to draw the sword.

"Come, Netherworld Dragon!"

From the dragon's maw spewed fog that dissolved everything, but the Knight's light pierced the grey mist. The battlefield bizarrely twisted instantly, at times showing a desolate realm with dead trees, at times reverting to the once glorious and shining white city. This was a struggle between worlds, a battle beyond Gongsun Ce's comprehension. His memory only held those appearances perceivable by human senses—the contending light and fog, and the declarations of the Creator Realm Mage that altered the world.

"Disaster Sign·Creation Realm. Wheel of Time Reroutes·Spiraling Arc!"

The battle between man and dragon became a bleak painting, with the greatsword piercing the evil fog belched by the Evil Dragon, star-shaped sparks bursting from the sword tip.

The light was warm and gentle, concealing the Evil Dragon's massive body, and even the blood moon dimmed because of it.

As the cross starlight flickered, Gongsun Ce's consciousness gradually faded away...

"!"

Gongsun Ce abruptly opened his eyes; the real world remained unchanged. There was no grey fog, no cross starlight, only a bespectacled young man leaning against the wall, pressing tightly against his own chest.

"Huh... huh..."

Gongsun Ce gasped for breath as if he had just finished vigorous exercise, and it took a good while for his wildly beating heart to return to calm. In a hurry, he grabbed the scroll and noticed that no traces of the Ink Sword remained. He knew all those Ink Swords had hidden themselves in his heart.

The swords of the past, the constant nightmares, Yan Qi's contingency plans... Swords... The Sealing in his heart...

Gongsun Ce's mind was a jumble of thoughts, and he muttered angrily, "You bastard, you forgot to write how damn uncomfortable it is to use this thing."

In his mind, a carefree painter laughed unabashedly, and Gongsun Ce could almost imagine what the other would say.

Hah, what do I care about your feelings? As long as the thing works!

Gongsun Ce wished he could punch the man in his imagination, but of all people, he was the one without the standing to do so. He stood up from the floor, quickly tidied up the things on the table, and went to the bathroom on the second floor to inspect his reflection in the mirror.

The Gongsun Ce in the mirror was pale, his eyes hollow, looking just like a dead man. He washed his face with warm water and quickly cycled through expressions in front of the mirror—crying, laughing, angry, sad... each expression was vivid, providing him some relief as, at least, his basic skills hadn't slipped.

When Gongsun Ce walked away from the mirror, he had completely returned to his usual appearance, back to the composed Superpower User. He descended the stairs, momentarily speechless at the sight of the four rising walls.

Gongsun Ce knocked on the heavy metal wall as if knocking on a door: "Hello, anyone there?"

The soundproof wall rose slowly, and Mo Yuankai in the living room was saying with a smile, "...Miss Aidal, you've worked hard too. I'm still tracking the exact location of that person in the middle, the other one will arrive at the sewage treatment plant in this district in about fifteen minutes, there's still time if you leave now on a pigeon."

"Thanks for the assistance. Are you sure you don't want compensation?"

"How can I charge a fee when Ah Ce introduced you?"

Gongsun Ce pushed his glasses up, "Mr. Mo, you give me so much face, I'm almost embarrassed. Let me treat you to a salad next time."

"Please, no. I'd rather be fat than eat grass. What about the new painting I received?"

"If you want my opinion, it's a ruined painting, with the artist's commentary serving as the finishing touch, perfectly showcasing their self-righteous arrogance."

"What painting?" Alice asked curiously. Gongsun Ce dropped a negatively-charged comment, "Just some trashy art putting on airs from an elder..." Hastily, he took the curious Alice and left.

The information dealer didn't rise to see them off, sitting on the sofa watching the two leave his home.

"So emotional."

Mo Yuankai shook his head and finished the last bit of his cola. He rubbed the surface of the can with his thick fingers, and a hint of light appeared in his hand.

The light transformed the red and blue can from cylinder to rectangle, made the paint all withdraw to the side facing his palm, and carved on the smooth surface the appearance of a screen and buttons. The can twisted and deformed like modeling clay, becoming an old-fashioned cell phone in half a minute.

Mo Yuankai smacked his lips: "That took long enough for me to make two phone calls."

He typed in a number, and the screen of the cellphone, once a cola can, lit up. A few seconds later, the call connected.

"Hello, Mr. Yan? This is Mo Yuankai."

"Ah Ce got the thing... His reaction? I wouldn't say happy, what did you tell him? ...To go die? Mr. Yan, I must say, it's understandable why he cursed you."

Laughter came through from the other end, carefree as a hooligan chatting and joking with friends on the street corner with a bottle of liquor in hand.

"They're on their way to the sewage treatment plant now, do you know the route? ...Asked a local for help? Please don't drag an ordinary student into this! ...Alright, no more questions from me, you're the expert... It's in your hands."

With that as the end of the conversation, Mo Yuankai squeezed his hand shut. When he opened it again, the cellphone he had just used was back to being a crushed can. He pressed a remote, and the large screen refreshed, changing from the photos of five giant dragon worshippers to a strange painting.

The painting depicted a twisted creature with fleshless wings, a bloated body, and an extremely small head with only one eye. It was surrounded by mist, perched above a bell tower, under the blood moon.

"One killed, one half-slashed, it never really ends..."

The real Evil Dragon in his memory temporarily overlapped with the painting on the screen, prompting Mo Yuankai to stare at it, his thoughts unknown.

"Good luck, Ah Ce," the information dealer leaned back on the sofa tiredly, "I believe in you. Put an end to the past."