159: Chapter 159 A Chaotic Battle Between Four Directions

On the outskirts of Washington, an abandoned factory.

White light exploded as dozens of figures tumbled out of a pillar of light, crashing onto the dusty concrete floor.

The first man to crawl up wore mechanical wings and a blue tight-fitting combat suit.

The wing pack on his back buzzed as it unfolded, revealing two rows of miniature missile launch pods.

He spat out a mouthful of dust.

"Fuck, what kind of shitty place is it this time? Last time in the Gotham dungeon, I was almost crushed by that bat. What is it now?"

Flying Eagle, Level 5 Reincarnator.

Beside him, a burly man holding a round shield stood up from the ground, slamming the shield down and cracking the concrete in three places.

"With guts like yours, you think you're fit for the War of the Heavens? Forgotten about the time you were chased by Hydra grunts?"

Star Shield, Level 5 Reincarnator.

Flying Eagle instantly bristled, his wings aiming at the man.

"Say that again, motherfucker? In that Gotham dungeon, if you hadn't snatched my Batman gear, would Bane have been able to break my leg? I haven't settled that score with you yet!"

"Come and try me." Star Shield raised his shield with a cold sneer. "Trash is trash; even if I gave you the gear, you wouldn't be able to hold onto it."

In a corner, a burly man with bright red skin clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking loudly.

He was nearly four meters tall, with muscles bulging like rocks.

Crouched on a tree branch was a young man in a black bodysuit.

The suit had a spiderweb pattern on its surface and a silver spider emblem on the chest.

Swinging a strand of spider silk, he was playing with a dagger he had swiped from Flying Eagle's waist.

Spider Shadow, Level 5 Reincarnator.

He tossed the dagger back to Flying Eagle.

"Your stuff. Keep it safe."

Flying Eagle felt his waist, his expression changing: "When did you..."

Another person stood in the shadows, body covered in a mechanical exoskeleton, an imitation Arc Reactor embedded in his chest, and a red scanning light flashing in his left eye.

Steel Skeleton, Level 6 Reincarnator.

There was also a woman standing at the very edge with her arms crossed, her body emitting a faint chill.

Frost, Level 6 Reincarnator, Ice-type ability user.

"A bunch of trash. Every time we descend, you start infighting. In the X-Men dungeon, if you hadn't left me behind to run for your lives, would I have been heavily injured by the Sentinels?"

Fury instantly turned to glare at her, his fists cracking: "Bitch, who are you calling trash?"

An ice spike condensed at Frost's fingertip, pointing at Fury: "I'm talking about you, you simple-minded, muscle-brained idiot."

Flying Eagle's wings aimed at Star Shield, Fury's fists were raised, and Frost's ice spike was fully formed.

Steel Skeleton's ion cutter began to preheat.

Around a dozen other Reincarnators stood nearby, ranging from Level 4 to Level 5.

There was a Hawkeye imitator with a folding compound bow, an arrow of energy without a head notched on the string.

A low-spec version of Wolverine with metal claws on his hands.

A Lizardman ability user covered in green scales.

And a high-spec imitation of Magneto's daughter in a black bodysuit, electric arcs crackling at her fingertips.

No one interrupted; no one took sides.

Several Level 4 Reincarnators took a half-step back, clearing the space.

Another burst of white light struck down.

Three figures landed steadily.

The man leading the way wore black Batman armor, the bat ears on his helmet glinting coldly in the shadows.

Night Owl, Level 7 Reincarnator.

Flying Eagle leaned into Spider Shadow's ear, his voice barely a whisper: "Holy shit, it's really him. In the last dungeon, he played three Level 7s like fiddles all by himself; not even their corpses were left."

Behind Night Owl was a man wreathed in red flames.

The last person was a woman with short white hair and eerie silver pupils.

Magnet Queen.

All three were Level 7 Reincarnators.

Just as everyone thought the arrivals were over, a figure crashed down heavily, causing massive cracks in the concrete floor.

He wore a deep blue tight combat suit with a silver five-pointed star printed on the chest.

With short blonde hair and sharp features, a casual smile hung on his lips. Red light flickered in his eyes.

Li Yohan, Level 8 Reincarnator.

Li Yohan looked up, red laser light swirling in his pupils as he scanned the scene.

Spider Shadow's lips trembled: "There won't be anyone higher level than him, right?"

"Impossible, absolutely impossible. He's a Level 8 Reincarnator with an SSS-rank ability, currently top-tier combat power."

The veterans all knew that while a Reincarnation Level didn't strictly equal combat power, it represented the number of Reincarnation worlds a person had survived, serving as a vital metric for judging strength.

After all, a higher level meant more worlds experienced, which translated to more experience and general points.

Li Yohan scanned the group and spoke.

"In this dungeon, follow my orders. Whoever gets in the way, dies."

A Level 4 Reincarnator stepped out; relying on his low-spec Wolverine healing factor, he didn't take Li Yohan seriously at all.

"Why should I listen to you? You wouldn't actually dare to kill me, would you?"

Li Yohan didn't say a word, red light flashing in his eyes.

The next second, the loudmouth was split in half, his body falling to either side with charred edges at the cut.

The entire area went dead silent.

"Is he crazy!" a Reincarnator's teeth chattered. "Doesn't killing someone in the same faction cost general points?"

Li Yohan retracted his gaze, his tone disdainful.

"How many general points is your life worth? Is it even a thousand?"

No one spoke.

Li Yohan looked around at the crowd, the red light in his eyes sweeping over everyone.

"My points are enough to slaughter all of you clean. Who wants to try me?"

No one wanted to try.

The cold notification sound of the Main God System exploded in the minds of all Reincarnators simultaneously.

[War of the Heavens · Third Calamity World. Opening.]

[Faction Division Complete: Local Faction; Xenomorph Hive Faction; Predator Hunting Party Faction; Myriad Heavens Reincarnator Faction.]

[Faction Kill Rules: Kill units from opposing factions to obtain general points and looting rights. Killing Reincarnators of the same faction will deduct general points.]

[PS: Regardless of faction or cause of death, all Reincarnators may loot the equipment and items of the deceased without penalty.]

[Current world general points real-time ranking is now open. After the mission ends, Reincarnators whose general points ranking does not meet the standard will be directly obliterated.]

The red light in Steel Skeleton's mechanical eye flickered frantically as he hacked into Washington's city-wide surveillance system, images flashing rapidly before him.

"Found it. South Washington Suburban Power Plant. Large numbers of Xenomorph activity signals. Shall we go and exterminate them?" Steel Skeleton looked toward Li Yohan.

Li Yohan nodded in satisfaction, though he sneered inwardly: "A bunch of idiots, just right to go and scout the situation for me."

The next second, Night Owl's figure vanished into the shadows. Balrog took to the sky, trailing a pillar of fire behind him.

Magnet Queen slid out on a metal plate beneath her feet.

Steel Skeleton took Flying Eagle, Star Shield, and Fury, heading toward the power plant.

The low-level Reincarnators looked at each other and also dispersed, heading in different directions.

At the same time, inside the main underground drainage pipe, a dark gold insect egg cracked open.

The dark gold egg, which had been surrounded and protected by Drones for 72 hours, finally split.

Viscous liquid surged from the cracks, carrying a sour, corrosive smell.

The top of the egg opened like a blooming flower.

A white figure crawled out from within.

It was entirely pale.

It didn't have the pitch-black exoskeleton of a normal Xenomorph, but was a bone-white with a pearlescent sheen.

It was a size larger than a Drone, with lines that were more slender and fluid.

Its head lacked the fan-shaped armor of a normal Xenomorph; instead, it had a face that approximated a human's.

Its mouth was filled with fine, sharp teeth, extending from the corners of its mouth all the way to its ears.

At the end of its long tail was a retractable hollow bone spike, with transparent liquid dripping from the tip.

As the liquid hit the ground, the concrete was corroded into a patch of foam, sizzling loudly.

White Queen.

The perfect new body that Queen No. 6 had forged for itself after merging with the Yautja Clan's genetic modification sequences.

In truth, No. 6 was originally just an ordinary Xenomorph, but its intelligence was far superior to its peers.

After the previous Queen died, it evolved into the new Queen.

However, it was eventually captured by the "Hunters," and No. 6 escaped during transport.

Since its original Queen body had been discarded during the crash, it had transferred its entire consciousness, genetic sequences, and Hive control into this dark gold egg.

Seventy-two hours of gestation had brought about a complete nirvana.

The moment it touched the ground, the surrounding Drones all prostrated themselves.

It wasn't fear; it was submission.

Low-frequency hisses emanated from the throats of every Drone, merging into a dull hum.

White Queen did not look at them.

Slender fingertips brushed across the concrete floor; the strong acid secreted from its tips instantly ate away a deep pit.

It could share the vision, hearing, and senses of every Drone in the entire Hive.

The entire underground pipe network of Washington was its eyes.

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It could evolve infinitely by devouring the genes of its prey, and could even simulate the abilities of its targets.

A sound came from the entrance of the pumping station.

A line of Drones crawled back from the depths of the pipes.

Each one was dragging a piece of prey.

Vagrants, addicts, missing maintenance workers, lost youths.

Some were still alive, their chests rising and falling weakly.

Others were already motionless, but their chests were bulging from the inside.

Drones dragged the prey to the edge of the pump station, fixing them to the pipe walls with resin.

Row after row, like sacrifices waiting to be harvested.

White Queen raised her head, her throat emitting a high-frequency hiss inaudible to human ears.

It wasn't an instinctive roar; it was a command.

...

On the other side, in the Ritz-Carlton ballroom.

A closed-door dinner for the entire America munitions industry.

Those who could enter were either high-ranking military officials from the Pentagon or the bosses of top North American suppliers.

Fu Haoran leaned against the buffet table, bored out of his mind. After the hearing, Bradley had stuffed a pile of invitations into his hands. He hadn't wanted to come, but Jimmy persuaded him that connections in the munitions circle would be beneficial for future orders.

Fu Haoran thought it made sense, so he came.

However, Bradley hadn't arrived, Johnson hadn't arrived, and those supplier representatives he had rendered speechless at the hearing certainly wouldn't show up.

No one present recognized him as a rising star; they just assumed Fu Haoran was some small supplier who had snuck in to network.

Fu Haoran was happy to have some peace and quiet.

He reached out to take the last glass of wine from a waiter's tray.

An icy hand touched the glass at the same time.

Fu Haoran turned his head.

The young woman was tall, and her high heels made her even more statuesque, standing almost level with Fu Haoran, which made him feel quite pressured.

Fu Haoran turned his head.

The young woman was tall, and her high heels made her even more statuesque, standing almost level with Fu Haoran, which made him feel quite pressured.

She wore a white slip dress, and her skin was as white as snow.

Long black hair fell to her waist, the ends slightly curled.

Her features had an extreme Eurasian look: deep eye sockets, a high bridge of the nose, and perfectly shaped lips.

A pair of peach-blossom eyes carried a hint of innate pride.

Fu Haoran glanced at her and then withdrew his gaze.

He picked up the wine glass and took a sip for himself.

He didn't say a word the entire time.

The girl's hand froze in mid-air, and the smile on her face stiffened.

The girl's name was Shen Shuwei, and she had come to America for university this year.

As a recognized great beauty, from childhood to adulthood, the men revolving around her could line up from the hotel entrance to the street corner.

Never mind a wine glass she actively reached for; even if she casually mentioned wanting something, people would scramble to bring it to her.

This was the first time she had encountered a man who not only didn't let her touch the glass but also directly ignored her.

She stared at Fu Haoran, sizing him up from head to toe.

His looks weren't exceptionally handsome; among her suitors, he could only be considered above average.

A buzz cut, clean but not striking.

The suit texture was good, but it wasn't a top luxury brand, and there wasn't a single conspicuous luxury item on him.

Thrown into a crowd of suitors, he wouldn't stand out at all.

A sneer curled at the corner of Shen Shuwei's mouth, her eyes filled with a bit more disdain.

She thought she understood; this man was deliberately using this method to attract her attention—an old-fashioned pickup tactic, utterly vulgar.

Suddenly, a hand reached over, took the half-finished wine glass from the man's hand, and drained it in one gulp.

Shen Shuwei looked over, her eyes widening slightly.

Even though she prided herself on being a great beauty, in front of this person, she had to admit she had lost a round.

A dark green velvet gown with a minimalist cut and no extra decorations.

A thin silver chain hung from her collarbone, with a teardrop-shaped dark green gemstone pendant.

Her hair was casually pinned up, with a few stray strands hanging by her ears.

Clearly not meticulously dressed, yet she made it impossible to look away.

“Go get me some food, dear.” Lucifelle put the empty wine glass back on the tray, her tone incredibly gentle.

Fu Haoran was helpless; her attitude was only ever this good when she was enjoying fine food.

What could he do? He complied.

Shen Shuwei stood there, so embarrassed her toes were curling.

She turned and walked quickly back to her father's side.

Shen Wanlin was chatting with several bosses.

He started in real estate back home and moved his assets to America a few years ago to start cross-border investments.

His constant refrains were “The America market is more mature” and “The domestic business environment is no good.”

He came to this banquet hoping to latch onto the Pentagon's coattails and get the title of military supplier so he could go home and brag.

Seeing his daughter approach, he smiled and asked, “Weiwei, what’s wrong?”

Shen Shuwei pursed her lips and gestured with her chin toward Fu Haoran.

“Dad, do you know that Chinese guy over there?”

Shen Wanlin followed his daughter's gaze; it was indeed a fresh face.

“Anyone who can come here isn't an ordinary person. Come, let's go introduce ourselves.”

...

“Hello, may I ask how to address you?”

Fu Haoran heard someone speaking Mandarin and instinctively turned, seeing a familiar face he'd seen a few times on TV.

“Fu Haoran.”

“I didn't expect to meet a compatriot here. It's fate. May I ask what industry Mr. Fu is in? To see if there's any chance for cooperation. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Shen Wanlin, Chairman of the Shen Real Estate Group,” Shen Wanlin introduced himself proudly.

Fu Haoran then remembered; this was the real estate tycoon who was often in the news, reportedly planning to enter the America real estate market recently.

“I’m the founder of a tech company.” Fu Haoran's introduction was perfunctory, but in Shen Wanlin's eyes, this was a sign of lack of confidence.

Any young man with even a bit of ability would try every which way to curry favor after hearing his famous name, or would introduce himself intensely to seek his appreciation.

“A domestic tech company?” An imperceptible sneer of disdain curled at Shen Wanlin's mouth. “In America, this industry isn't easy to work in. The waters are too deep.”

Having lost interest, Shen Wanlin exchanged a few perfunctory words and left.

“Seems to be a second-generation heir with no ability.” Shen Wanlin mentally labeled Fu Haoran as mediocre.

Returning to his daughter's side, Shen Wanlin pulled Shen Shuwei's wrist and said:

“Stay away from him. He's a useless Adou.”

Shen Shuwei curled her lip; she hadn't planned on getting close again anyway.

The lights in the ballroom flickered once.

No one took it seriously.

The guests continued to raise their glasses and chat, and the band's performance didn't stop.

The lights flickered again, and this time, they all went out.

Emergency lights came on, their pale light illuminating the ballroom.

The guests were a bit stirred, but not yet panicking; a high-end hotel's emergency power could last a few hours without a problem.

Someone took out a phone to call the police, only to find the line was busy!

They tried several numbers in a row, all were busy!

Suddenly, the sound of sirens came from outside—not one car, but an entire convoy roaring past.

The guests began to panic.

The atmosphere of the scene instantly became subtle.

[Faction division complete. Host's faction: Native Faction.]

[Current faction members: 1 person.]

[Faction kill rules: Kill units from opposing factions to obtain general points and looting rights.]

[Optional tasks have been issued; please check the panel.]

[Task duration: 72 hours (PS: It will be eternal night for the next 72 hours)]

Fu Haoran helplessly set down his plate; he had a bit of a "stomach ache."

“Why is the number of people in the Native Faction only 1?”

“Is this bullying the honest guy?”

The system gave a rare reply:

[Detected that the Reincarnator belongs to the Lord class. The system determines this territory as the Reincarnator's nominal domain. Therefore, faction affiliation is locked to the Native Faction, with the initial member being only the Reincarnator.]

Fu Haoran was speechless. This wasn't his Hive City world, so how was it being viewed as his territory? He couldn't mobilize the entire America military, so what kind of Lord was he?

Fu Haoran complained while taking out his phone: “Tychus, stop eating. Get our people together; there's work to do.”

Just as Fu Haoran was about to leave, an anomaly occurred.

“Ah! What is that!” A heart-wrenching scream instantly pierced through the commotion in the ballroom.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of the ballroom shattered with a bang, glass shards spraying everywhere.

A pitch-black Xenomorph, moving on digitigrade limbs, walked in. Its over two-meter-tall body almost reached the ceiling, and its fan-shaped head gleamed with a cold, bony luster under the pale emergency lights.

Its long tail lashed out, the bone spur at the tip instantly piercing a nearby marble pillar. Acidic fluid dripped from the spur onto the floor, etching deep pits that emitted white smoke.

In its open mouth, an inner jaw full of sharp teeth instantly snapped out, lunging toward the nearest guest.

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