Lord of Asura Returns for Her

The night wind from the northern border, carrying the smell of rust and dust, seeped in through cracks in the abandoned industrial area. Three heavy electromagnetic cannons from the Sky Consortium were mounted on temporary fortifications three hundred meters away, their eerie blue arcs crackling and dancing in the air, illuminating the concrete entrance to the No. 7 air-raid shelter in a stark white light.

Viktor stood atop the central armored vehicle, his military boots treading on the steel plates, his right hand gripping two dark gold spikes. The spikes were seven inches long, as thick as a thumb, their surfaces engraved with fine spiral patterns, gleaming with a cold metallic sheen in the moonlight. Behind him stood hundreds of mercenaries, all clad in tactical exoskeletons and armed with standard rifles; the infrared sights, like a swarm of fireflies, were densely packed against my chest.

His sights were on the psionic vein beneath the bunker. A map drawn last month by the Sky Consortium's exploration team showed a high-purity psionic vein 300 meters directly beneath Bunker 7, with estimated reserves enough to support the energy needs of a medium-sized city for five years. Victor needed this credit to climb from the periphery of the consortium into the core decision-making circle. He and his armed squad had been surrounding the area for three days, waiting for me to show up.

The cryo-chamber in the bunker's basement still glowed green. Elena lay in the center of the 30-square-meter space, inside the medical-grade cryo-chamber. A thick layer of frost covered the surface, and her features were blurred by the low-temperature mist through the transparent observation window. She had been in a coma for five years, her heartbeat sustained solely by this life support system. The green indicator light on the side of the cryo-chamber was the only proof that she was still alive. If the electromagnetic cannon fired, even a mere graze or pulse would instantly burn out the microcurrent control chip inside the chamber, extinguishing the green light completely.

I pushed open the rusty iron gate and went outside. The hinges made a harsh, scraping sound that carried far through the empty industrial area.

Viktor jumped off the armored vehicle, his boots slamming into the gravel, and tossed two piercing nails at my feet. The metal struck the ground with two sharp clangs.

"Special bone-sealing nails made by the Sky Consortium." He kicked one of them with the tip of his boot. "Take it yourself, aim it at your shoulder blade and press it in. If one's missing, I'll press the launch button immediately."

I looked down at the two nails. The suppressed patterns were the latest achievement of the consortium's weapons laboratory, specifically designed for the internal energy meridians of high-level martial artists. After the nails were inserted into the body, the patterns would resonate with the bones, like a lock locking the flow of internal energy in the meridians. These things cost six figures on the black market, and Victor took out two at once, showing considerable sincerity.

Infrared dots flickered densely across my chest. Hundreds of rifles were fully disengaged, their crisp mechanical clicks ringing out. My gaze passed over the muzzles, settling on a faint green light peeking deep into the bunker entrance.

My internal energy remained abundant. The power of the Celestial War God at his peak surged silently through my meridians. If I were to force my way in, I was absolutely certain I could clear this defensive line within ten seconds. However, the shockwave from the clash of energy would spread in all directions. The concrete walls of the bunker's basement couldn't withstand that level of energy tremor, and the thin civilian-grade shielding material of the cryo-chamber's outer shell would be even less effective. The shockwave would shatter all the precision components inside the chamber into fragments.

I bent down and picked up the nail. Its surface was cold to the touch, and the spiral pattern felt rough against my palm.

Viktor's thumb rested on the red button on the launch remote, a playful smile on his lips: "What? You're reluctant to part with your top-tier combat power? The mighty God of War of the Sky, crippling himself for a wife in a vegetative state—that's enough for me to brag about for three years."

The surrounding mercenaries let out low chuckles. Someone whistled.

I didn't reply. I gripped the first bone-piercing nail with my backhand, aimed it at the bone crease below my left scapula, tightened my fingers, exerted force with my palm, and pressed it down directly.

Pfft.

The spikes pierced the composite fiber fabric of the tactical jacket, penetrating the skin and flesh, their hard tips squeezing into the narrow gap between the shoulder blade and ribs. Like a red-hot iron skewer inserted into a joint cavity. Blood gushed from the wound, flowing down the jacket fabric, instantly staining half the garment red. The moment the spikes penetrated, the pressure lines contacted the energy channels, a cold, obstructed sensation spreading along the spine to both ends, like cold water being poured into scalding pipes, forcibly locking the flow of energy.

A sharp pain shot through my brain, and my vision went black for a moment. I clenched my back teeth, feeling a throbbing, pulsating pain in my gums. The second nail was already aimed at my right shoulder.

Click.

A cracking sound came from my right scapula, as if bones were dislocating. The nail pierced a second time, and dark red blood gushed from both the old and new penetrating wounds, flowing down my arms and dripping onto the gravel and dust at my feet. The two bone-piercing nails activated their suppressive effect simultaneously, and my inner energy completely subsided in my meridians, like a river that had been cut off. My bodily functions plummeted instantly, and my limbs felt as heavy as lead. A crushing pain shot through my shoulders, my knees buckled, and I knelt on one knee on the rough concrete floor.

Viktor looked at me kneeling on the ground, blood streaming from my shoulders, and his entire body visibly relaxed. He jumped out of the car and walked over to me, the barrel of his gun tapping my face, the cold metal against my cheekbone: "I thought you were so tough. You really ruined yourself for a half-dead woman."

He waved to two of his men: "Lock him in with steel chains and pierce his collarbone with iron hooks. Take him to the banquet later and let those important figures upstairs see what kind of person this so-called war god, who once roamed the North, is now."

Two burly men approached, dragging a chain as thick as a thumb. The chain had a barbed hook at the end, its tip polished to a gleaming shine. One of them held down my shoulder, while the other gripped the hook, aiming it at the thin layer of skin below my collarbone.

"Bear with it." The burly man grinned and pushed his wrist hard.

The metal pierced through the skin and fascia, running along the lower edge of the collarbone. The barbs were stuck at the edge of the bone, each movement tugging at the dense nerve endings around the collarbone. Excruciating pain, like electric shocks, washed over him repeatedly; his vision went black twice before returning. Blood dripped down the chain, pooling at his feet.

Viktor walked ahead, clutching the remote control, while his men pulled on the chains, dragging me along. I stood up, staggering as the force of the drag pulled me away. As I turned to leave, my gaze swept across the depths of the bunker; the green indicator light on the cryo-chamber was still flashing normally, appearing as tiny as a pinhead from dozens of meters away.

As long as it's still lit up, that's enough.