Thien Anh stared intently at his four-legged companion as the beast scrambled up from the pile of mangled gore. A rare, almost naive smile flickered across the cold-blooded assassin's face. He let out a dry, raspy chuckle that grew into a full laugh—the laugh of a child who had just found his most precious lost toy.
"You... you actually ate that entire thing?" Thien Anh pointed to the Dreadwing's massive carcass, now reduced to a bleached skeletal frame. "That was dozens of tons of meat. Is your stomach connected to a cosmic black hole?"
Thien Lang licked his jowls, his tongue stained a vibrant, visceral red. He turned his jade-green eyes toward Thien Anh, his gaze narrowing with a mischievous glint.
"Hungry... Master."
His voice was deep and gravelly, echoing like a roll of thunder in a cavern, yet it carried an undeniable warmth.
Thien Anh laughed again, patting the wolf's still-flat stomach.
"Careful you don't catch a glutton's curse. If you eat like this, I'll never afford to keep you. By the way... can Thanh speak yet?"
Thien Lang tilted his head, baring his brilliant white fangs in a wolfish grin.
"Likely... yes. She ate... the meat too."
Thien Anh nodded. Suddenly, his smile vanished. He looked down at his calf—the spot where a jagged stone had torn through his flesh earlier.
Gone. No blood, no tear. New, smooth skin had sealed the wound, leaving not even a faint scar behind.
"Master... what is it?" Thien Lang asked, sensitive to the shift in mood.
"Nothing." Thien Anh shook his head, his eyes flickering with calculation. "Seems I've 'evolved' too. This recovery speed... quite handy."
He pointed to the remaining soft tissue within the Dreadwing's ribcage.
"Don't eat the heart. Save it for little Thanh."
"Yes... Master."
Thien Lang obediently ducked into the hollowed-out chest of the monster to retrieve the organ. The Dreadwing's hide was as tough as steel plating, unyielded to ordinary blades, but against Thien Lang's new fangs, it was as soft as dough.
The pungent, metallic stench of fresh blood quickly drew uninvited guests. From the shadows of ruined alleys, the neon-green eyes of stray cats and dogs began to surface. They lingered in the periphery, staring ravenously at the remains.
But the moment the first scavenger dared to creep forward...
"GRRR!"
A black blur erupted from the Dreadwing's carcass. CRUNCH! With a single snap, the stray dog's head was severed from its neck. Thien Lang stood tall, radiating the suffocating killing intent of an apex predator. The remaining scavengers, paralyzed by terror, tucked their tails and vanished into the ruins.
Thien Anh sat atop a high concrete beam, calmly cleaning the bore of his sniper rifle. He didn't need to lift a finger. Thien Lang was now capable of dominating the entire local map.
Suddenly, the ground vibrated to a different rhythm.
Thud... Thud...
Not beasts. Diesel engines.
A convoy of seven trucks lumbered onto the boulevard. The vehicles were heavily reinforced with B40 steel mesh and thick, rusted corrugated metal sheets, looking like iron monsters. On the truck beds, groups of men brandished AKs and machetes.
But the true horror lay behind them. A cloud of dust billowed like a sandstorm. Hundreds of mutant pigs were in a blind, frenzied pursuit. Leading the charge were Bone-Plated Boars as large as bulldozers, flattening every obstacle in their path.
"Faster! Those damn pigs are closing in!" a panicked scream drifted from one of the trucks.
Thien Anh narrowed his eyes, peering through his scope. On the trucks, besides the armed thugs, were dozens of civilians huddled in terror.
"Boss! We can't lose them! There are too many!" a subordinate wailed.
The leader—a man with a greasy mustache and a face slick with oil—coldly spat his cigarette onto the floorboards. He jerked his chin toward a corner of the truck bed where several wounded people were groaning in pain.
"Jettison the cargo. Give the pigs something to chew on."
"Cargo? Boss, you mean..."
"The cripples! Keeping them is a waste of food and medicine. Let them be useful for one last time."
The thugs understood. They lunged forward, grabbing the wounded by their limbs and dragging them toward the edge.
"No! Please! Stop!" "I'm still alive! Don't throw me!" "You bastards! You're demons!"
Heart-wrenching pleas and desperate curses tore through the air. They were answered only by the cold strike of rifle butts to the head.
Thwack! Crack!
"Too much talk! Off you go!"
One by one, the humans were hurled onto the road like bags of refuse.
Immediately, the flood of mutant boars swarmed them.
"AAAAAAAAAGH!"
The screams were cut short by the sickening crunch of breaking bones and the sound of wet, rhythmic gnashing. Fresh blood splattered onto the scorching asphalt. The boars tore into the flesh of his fellow humans, a feeding frenzy that turned the boulevard into a literal hell on earth.
Thien Anh remained in his firing position, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. His face was a mask of absolute detachment, as still as the surface of a frozen pond.
He was no saint. He had no intention of being a hero. But memories flooded back—vivid and agonizing as if they were happening today.
...A gaunt boy reaching out a skeletal hand for a scrap of leftover rice. Answered by raucous laughter and the release of a snarling Doberman. Fangs sinking into his calf. The wound festering, swarming with maggots. A boy so hungry he had to pick the maggots out... and put them in his mouth...
...The brutal beatings from thugs over a plastic bottle... The truckloads of children being carted off for organ harvesting...
The world had never changed. The strong devour the weak. It had always been this way. But today, Thien Anh was the one with the gun.
"Even beasts know to protect their own..." he murmured, his eyes narrowing, locking onto the leader who stood laughing atop the lead truck. "But you lot... you're sub-human."
Thien Lang had emerged from the Dreadwing's remains, standing by his side, hackles raised, a low growl vibrating in his chest.
"Kill... them... Master?"
Thien Anh's lips curled into a faint, lethal smirk—the smile of a reaper.
"Let's play a game. Let's see if those pigs prefer the taste of pork or the taste of humans."
Click.
The Armor-Piercing round was chambered.
"Commence."