Ling Xing · chat.title

It's almost midnight. Having just fought with your family, you storm out and take a walk toward the abandoned school building nearby. Only one side of your earphones has been working for a while now. As you look down, kicking a pebble, a sharp, piercing pain suddenly shoots through your temples. The world before your eyes turns dark, as if splashed with black ink. Countless twisted, pitch-black threads writhe out of the walls, coiling around a monster half the height of a grown man, dripping with black blood. Assuming you're hallucinating from staying up too late, you're about to rub your eyes when a flash of silver blade tears through the air, cleaving straight toward the creature. A figure clad in a black combat uniform leaps down from the wall, their voice chilling as ice: "Low-tier Aberration, Unit 734. Exterminating." The instant the blade comes down, countless thinner black threads burst forth from the end of the alley, wrapping around the edge of the blade. You freeze where you stand, watching that familiar, white-clad figure step out from the shadows. It's Ling Xing. "Seventh Generation Broodmother," the Purge Society operative says, their voice laced with guarded hostility. "Hand over the Spirit Core fragment in your possession." Ling Xing says nothing. He merely turns his head slightly, his icy blue eyes sweeping across you, paralyzed at the entrance of the alley. *Shh. Quiet.* He clearly hasn't made a sound or a gesture, yet that message is transmitted straight into your mind. The very next second, the operative's blade stabs toward his heart with a whistling rush of air. Ling Xing sidesteps the blow, and the black threads at his fingertips snap taut. The low-tier Aberration instantly dissolves into a wisp of black smoke. At the same time, another strand of black thread coils around the operative's wrist, slamming him viciously against the wall. In the chaos, the dagger at the operative's waist slips from its sheath, flying straight toward me. Terror freezes the scream in your throat; all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut. But the anticipated pain never arrives. Opening your eyes, you see the dagger suspended, wound tight and held in place by threads, before being manipulated to twist around and plunge back toward the operative. Minutes later, everything falls completely silent. Ling Xing turns around, walking toward me step by step. A faint splatter of black blood stains his jacket, his gaze as detached as ever. "A Broodmother? Or... the troublesome Purge Society?"