The Phoenix of the Slums

The cold wind sweeping through Tiangang’s eastern harbor bit deep into Tianming’s skin as he and Xiaoqing made their way toward the outskirts. Every alley felt narrower. Every shadow seemed longer. Word would spread soon—if it hadn’t already—that someone had broken into the Cradle and walked out alive. And that someone had taken something with them.
As they neared an abandoned cargo depot, Tianming stopped and crouched low. A flickering lamp far in the distance glowed faintly—too faint to be civilian. It was a signal, one he recognized from Lu Qingshan’s old notes: the mark of the Serpent’s Eye.
“They’re already moving,” Tianming muttered.
“Who?” Xiaoqing asked softly, crouching beside him.
“The Serpent’s Eye. An intelligence syndicate that operates in the cracks between the major power factions. They sell secrets to the highest bidder—and now that we’ve disrupted the Cradle, they’ll smell opportunity. If they get their hands on the Keymaster’s data, or worse, trace us, we’ll be hunted across the continent.”
Xiaoqing’s breath caught. “So what do we do?”
“We intercept first.” Tianming’s eyes hardened. “We become the predators.”
They waited for the signal to flicker again—three quick pulses, one long. Then they moved. Through rusted scaffolding and over crumbling shipping crates, they crept into position. The building ahead, once a customs checkpoint, was now repurposed into a covert relay node. Tianming spotted three men inside through the broken windows, dressed in black tactical gear, their movements methodical. One was speaking into a comms unit. The other two were handling a small terminal.
Tianming reached into his coat and withdrew a glass ampoule containing a pale green liquid—the Whisper Dust. Developed by the Orchid Society’s alchemist wing, it created an instant smoke screen that dulled sound for 10 seconds. Just enough.
“On my mark,” he whispered.
He hurled the ampoule through the window. It shattered silently. In the next breath, a cloud erupted through the room. The guards didn’t have time to react. Tianming and Xiaoqing moved like shadows—silent, decisive.
Tianming slammed his palm into the first man’s throat, spun him around, and disarmed the communicator from his belt. Xiaoqing flipped the second one over her shoulder and drove her elbow into his spine. The third stumbled back, blind in the haze, but Tianming closed the gap in a blink, pinning him to the wall with a knee against his chest.
“You’ve been busy,” Tianming hissed. “Broadcasting something?”
The man struggled but Tianming pressed harder.
“Codes. Frequencies. Who are you contacting?”
“Lotus... we’re selling the data dump. The Cradle node spiked and someone offered double the usual rate.” The man coughed. “We were just trying to flip the contract.”
Tianming’s lips curled. “You chose the wrong buyer.”
He struck the man unconscious with a sharp chop to the side of the neck. Xiaoqing checked the terminal. “They were sending coordinates... Looks like encrypted archives pulled from the Cradle after we left. It includes fragments of the voiceprint protocol and something called ‘Protocol Seraph.’”
Tianming’s breath caught. Protocol Seraph. He’d only seen those words once, scrawled in red ink in Lu Qingshan’s personal diary. “If Protocol Seraph is initiated... prepare for total subversion. No will shall remain.”
“We need that data,” Tianming said. “Secure the drive. We’ll let the Orchid Society decrypt it.”
Xiaoqing carefully removed the drive module and pocketed it. “Done. But there’s more.”
She pointed to a half-loaded message still visible on the screen.
“SERAPH activation ready. Awaiting genetic key match: Subject 017.”
Tianming froze. “Subject 017?”
“That was your file name at the Cradle, wasn’t it?” Xiaoqing whispered.
He nodded slowly. “They weren’t just experimenting with hybrids or creatures. They were trying to build a control system. Protocol Seraph wasn’t for the creatures. It was for people like me. Human weapons.”
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Movement. From the second floor, a faint creak. Too faint for any civilian. His instincts screamed. He pushed Xiaoqing aside as a bullet tore through the window and grazed his shoulder.
“Sniper!” he shouted.
They dove for cover. A second shot shattered the terminal. Sparks flew as circuitry burned. Tianming rolled behind a steel column, blood seeping down his arm. He clenched his teeth.
“We need to move—now!”
But Xiaoqing wasn’t responding.
She was frozen, eyes wide, staring at the silhouette on the rooftop above—a figure cloaked in matte black, holding a long rifle etched with a snake insignia.
“Who the hell is that?” she whispered.
Tianming cursed under his breath. “That’s not Lotus. That’s Wraith-class. An elite operative from the Shadow Warden Division.”
“You mean they work for—?”
“No one. They're mercenaries for the elite. Only hired for top-level containment.”
The Wraith fired again. Tianming ducked, grabbed a rusted iron bar, and hurled it at the rooftop. It struck the edge, sending sparks into the fog. It gave them the second they needed.
He grabbed Xiaoqing’s hand. “Move!”
They ran.
Through twisted corridors of the depot, leaping over fallen beams and shattered crates, they zigzagged to avoid being lined up for a clean shot. Every few seconds, another bullet echoed through the fog, always just missing. But the shots weren’t random—they were pushing them, herding them.
Tianming saw the trap too late.
They burst through the last hallway and emerged into an open courtyard ringed by metal containers. The Wraith dropped from above like a phantom, landing without a sound.
He stood tall, rifle in one hand, a curved dagger in the other.
“You are Subject 017,” he said, voice distorted by a modulator. “Return the Cradle drive and submit for reprocessing.”
Tianming stepped forward, shielding Xiaoqing. “You’ll have to cut it out of me.”
The Wraith didn’t hesitate.
He moved like lightning, dagger slicing toward Tianming’s chest. Tianming ducked, then twisted, catching the Wraith’s arm and driving his knee into the man’s ribs. The Wraith grunted, but used the momentum to spin, the butt of his rifle cracking against Tianming’s temple.
Tianming staggered.
The Wraith struck again, blade cutting a shallow gash across Tianming’s ribs. But Tianming didn’t fall. He roared, grabbing the Wraith by the vest, and slammed his head into the metal container behind him.
The Wraith recoiled.
Xiaoqing, meanwhile, pulled a compact taser from her coat and fired it. The Wraith jerked violently. Sparks flew.
But it wasn’t enough.
He surged forward, clothes smoldering, and backhanded Xiaoqing, sending her to the ground. His blade shot forward toward her throat.
Tianming’s boot connected with his wrist, twisting the weapon from his hand.
In the same motion, Tianming grabbed the dagger mid-air and plunged it into the Wraith’s side.
The man froze.
Tianming’s face was inches from his, eyes burning with fury.
“Tell your clients,” he hissed. “I’m done running.”
He twisted the blade and shoved the Wraith back, letting him fall.
Blood pooled beneath the man as he went still.
Tianming knelt beside Xiaoqing, checking her pulse. She groaned, slowly stirring.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “You got him?”
“For now,” Tianming replied. “But there’ll be more.”
He picked her up gently, glancing one last time at the dead Wraith.
The war had changed.
It wasn’t just about the Lotus Clan anymore. The Seraph Protocol. Subject 017. The Shadow Warden Division. There were layers Tianming hadn’t even begun to uncover.
And now they were all watching him.