IABI -Chapter 125 Humanity’s Counterattack (26)

The golden vertical pupils clearly reflected Chi Xin’s leaping figure. Perhaps because Chi Xin’s longsword had shattered earlier, giving him confidence, the colossal dragon Raphael had transformed into did not dodge. Instead, it chose to directly take the blow head-on with its body.

Clang—

Metal collided, producing a clear, ringing sound. Chi Xin’s gaze sharpened. The new weapon in her hand felt as obedient and familiar as an old friend.

Something shocking happened.

When the seemingly fragile ice sword struck the dragon’s hardened hide, it was not the ice that shattered.

The pitch-black scales were easily sliced open, crimson blood gushing out wildly as the dragon let out a piercing shriek.

“Roar—”

That roar turned into a visible soundwave, spreading outward in layers. Apart from Chi Xin, who was closest and still barely able to remain standing, every other living being was struck by the wave—dizzy, ears ringing—and knocked flat to the ground.

In that instant, the only ones still standing—Chi Xin and the dragon—were starkly highlighted.

Chi Xin herself was not feeling great either. Though she remained upright, her head buzzed with vertigo. She guessed Raphael had probably used Lou Chen’s mental attack to achieve such an effect.

But that was all.

Chi Xin couldn’t be bothered with taunts. Every villain who died from talking too much proved one thing—once her consciousness cleared, the first thing she did was raise her sword and charge forward again!

This time, however, Raphael had learned. He didn’t clash head-on with her. Instead, his massive bone wings spread wide, whipping up a violent gale as he roared skyward.

“Roar—”

He let out another furious bellow. Immense soundwaves swept across the battlefield. Even the civilians inside the base were crushed flat against the ground, unable to rise.

Even Chi Xin, due to the distance, could no longer deal any real damage to the dragon.

She could withstand the repeated shockwaves—but others couldn’t.

“You think just because you’re in the sky, I can’t deal with you?”

Chi Xin ground out the words through clenched teeth. Just as she was about to pull something out in midair, a slab of floating ice suddenly appeared before her.

She froze, then immediately turned her head.

Jing Xiubai, after all, was still only human. He too was pressed to the ground by the soundwaves. His always-neat black hair hung limply over his face. He raised one hand, blue light flickering in his palm.

Chi Xin’s sharp eyes caught several drops of fresh blood on the ground in front of him.

“Jing Xiubai!” she blurted out. “Stop it! I have a way to get up there!”

After fighting side by side so many times, how could she not know what the most effective method was in aerial combat?

Jing Xiubai’s floating ice had always worked perfectly with her. Of course she remembered.

But she also remembered that the powers he’d gained through experimentation were not without side effects. He’d been using offensive abilities nonstop before—if he forcibly switched to ice constructs now and miscalculated even slightly, he could die from backlash.

Yet he still did it.

“There’s no better way.”

The muscles in Jing Xiubai’s forearm tensed, his voice hoarse. “Go!”

Chi Xin bit down hard, wasting no more of the precious time he was buying her. She twisted and leapt onto the floating ice. Another slab immediately formed, then another—each one appearing precisely beneath her feet, perfectly in tune with her intentions.

This was the tacit understanding forged through countless battles together. With anyone else, Chi Xin might have fallen—but Jing Xiubai never would let that happen.

Blazing fire burned in Chi Xin’s chest. Faces flashed through her mind as she charged toward the dragon’s shadow that blotted out the sky, like a blasphemer roaring defiance at an unjust god.

“All you self-proclaimed gods—none of you ever end well. Die!”

With Jing Xiubai’s support, Chi Xin was like a tiger with wings. The sole drawback of aerial combat was eliminated. Combined with strength no less than the dragon’s, she quickly forced Raphael into retreat.

Yet gradually, Chi Xin sensed something was wrong.

She felt Raphael’s abilities shouldn’t be limited to this. At the very least, he shouldn’t be this calm while being suppressed so completely—without the slightest hint of impatience or urgency.

His evasions were composed. Even his eyes were… his eyes!

Chi Xin’s expression stiffened as alarm bells rang in her mind.

Within Raphael’s massive beastly pupils, a sharp glint suddenly surfaced. Though no smile could be seen on that ferocious dragon face, the look of a scheme succeeding—of absolute confidence—was unmistakable.

“You’re shackled, Chi Xin. Human thinking has limited you. I don’t blame your shortsightedness or stubbornness. Now—return to your true self.”

As he spoke, the dragon’s thick tail lashed violently toward Chi Xin’s waist.

She instinctively twisted to dodge—but in the next instant, the dragon’s enormous claw shot out, raised high, positioned exactly above where she’d dodged.

Chi Xin looked up.

A fine, unknown powder spilled from his palm, drifting down like snow—impossible to evade.

“I know how strong you are, Chi Xin. This is a trap I designed specifically for you, after days of effort.” Raphael’s voice suddenly brimmed with fanatic excitement. “I’m finally—finally going to achieve it…”

Achieve… what?

Chi Xin knew she’d fallen into a trap. Relying purely on overwhelming strength for so long had made her forget that her opponent could also scheme.

Steady. She told herself, forcing calm as she sensed the changes in her body.

She didn’t know what those fine particles were. They left no marks on her skin, vanishing the instant they touched her.

If it were anyone else, they might think they’d simply disappeared.

But Chi Xin’s control over her own body had long reached perfection. That intense foreign sensation crawling beneath her skin was impossible to ignore.

“What did you do to me?” Chi Xin asked calmly.

Raphael opened his dragon maw. “I’m helping you. And helping myself.”

What did that mean?

Enduring the strange sensations inside her, Chi Xin suddenly felt the ice beneath her feet drop.

It turned out Jing Xiubai had realized something was wrong above. He made a decisive call, lowering Chi Xin back toward relatively safer ground.

But during the descent, the powder that had seeped into her body began to take effect.

Chi Xin dropped to one knee on the ice.

Her brain sounded a shrill alarm, fighting desperately against the foreign invasion. Excruciating pain spread from deep within—enough to tear an ordinary person’s mind apart.

Yet she could feel that her consciousness remained clear. But from the edges of her vision, a white fog slowly spread inward, gradually flooding everything.

At the same time, her five senses began to fade.

As thick mist enveloped her vision, leaving only pure white, the sounds at her ears vanished as well.

Jing Xiubai’s heart-rending shouts were instantly swallowed up.

Chi Xin blinked.

She could no longer feel herself falling—could no longer feel her own existence. Apart from her consciousness, she couldn’t even see her body.

It was as if she had become mist, become wind, become air—existing freely in this void.

Where was this? And what exactly had Raphael meant?

Could she… still go back?

Just as confusion took hold, a voice sounded, drifting ethereally through the emptiness.

“Child.”

An indescribable feeling welled up in her heart. Chi Xin paused, unable to suppress the familiarity and warmth surging from deep within.

“Who are you?”

Her voice rang out, though she felt no movement of her lips.

The voice fell silent for a moment. “You’ve been in this world for so long—have you even forgotten my voice?”

Chi Xin froze. Then disbelief, joy, and terror exploded in her chest.

“Fa… Father?” she whispered.

The instant the word father left her lips, she suddenly felt substance again. Gravity seized her, and she began to fall.

Startled, Chi Xin immediately adjusted her posture, curling her body and covering her head midair—the most protective position she knew.

But she didn’t hit the ground.

Instead, she landed on something soft and pure white, like clouds, cradling her falling body.

A strong, weathered hand reached out to her.

Chi Xin stared blankly, scarcely daring to believe her eyes.

She followed that hand upward. In the endless white, her father’s familiar, refined face became the only color in the space.

Seeing her hesitate, Father Chi said nothing—just as he had when she was little, lifting her up after a fall. He helped her to her feet and even brushed the dust from her knees for form’s sake.

Chi Xin’s eyes were glued to his face.

Father Chi looked no different from before she’d left her own world: a black suit, silver hair meticulously combed back, eyes deep and bright. It was impossible to tell his age—only that his bearing was exceptional.

“Dad… Dad?” Chi Xin called him by the more intimate name. The battle-god who roamed the world, slaughtering beasts and zombies without equal, suddenly felt her eyes sting with moisture. “Dad.”

“My good child.” He looked at her deeply. At her call, the lines on his face seemed to deepen, and a trace of guilt flickered in his eyes.

“Dad, why are you here?” Chi Xin sniffed, her voice unconsciously softening. “I… I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Though she tried to keep her tone steady, her hands trembled slightly.

“This isn’t a dream, Xin Xin,” Father Chi said in a low voice. “Your body is still on the battlefield at Base A. I only brought your consciousness here.”

He had expected her to urgently demand an explanation—after all, she’d always relied on him, pampered and clingy, never letting go of a question once she knew he had the answer.

But this time, to his clear surprise, his beloved daughter showed no such dependence.

Instead, her eyes narrowed, a trace of vigilance surfacing.

He watched her take a step back. When she looked again, the fragility and reliance were gone—replaced by a sharp, unsheathed clarity, like a blade.

“Is this your new game, Raphael?” Chi Xin said coldly. “If you like this place so much as your burial ground, I can grant that wish.”

Her gaze flickered—then instantly hardened again.

Father Chi opened his mouth, countless complicated emotions in his eyes. Finally, he sighed softly. “Xin Xin, this isn’t reality. Your spatial abilities weren’t brought here. There’s no point trying.”

Chi Xin’s expression didn’t change at all. “Then I’ll have to admire you—for daring to take me on with nothing but brute force.”

At last, Father Chi couldn’t hold back. He waved his hand, and several transparent bubbles appeared around them. Inside each bubble was a scene.

A toddler Chi Xin toddled forward and threw herself into her father’s arms.

Grade-school Chi Xin, hair in a simple ponytail, sat at the piano learning pieces with her mother, her neck slender as a swan’s.

College-bound Chi Xin boarded a plane, turning back to wave brightly at her parents.

Scene after scene—precious memories Chi Xin had buried deep in her heart, too cherished to ever share.

Her nose twitched. She stared fiercely at the bubbles, as if she meant to glare them into shattering.

“I really am your father,” Chi’s father said softly. “The reason I appear here is because the time has come… Xinxin, I should apologize to you. I dragged you into this struggle without your consent. But you are my daughter—I had no other choice.”

Chi Xin’s whole body stiffened. She didn’t say a word.

Chi’s father paused, then continued, “I once thought that as long as I was still around, these things would never come looking for you. But I was wrong. Your talent far exceeded my expectations. I did everything I could to hide you, yet you were still discovered. That’s why I had no choice but to—”

“When I was little, the first time I had to get an IV drip, I cried and refused,” Chi Xin suddenly spoke. “How did you coax me then?”

Chi’s father froze for a moment. “A lock of my hair.”

Chi Xin trembled slightly as she closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened them again. When she looked at Chi’s father, the wariness that had been there before was gone.

“So… you really are my dad, aren’t you?”

“Ah, Xinxin.” Chi’s father’s eyes also grew moist. Just gaining her acknowledgment nearly broke his composure.

Chi Xin paced around a few times, deliberately avoiding his gaze. Only after she was sure she could speak steadily did she lift her head again. “Go on, Dad. I have so many questions.”

Chi’s father looked at her, his expression a complicated mix of heartache and guilt. “Xinxin, you’ve grown up.”

“There’s no time for reminiscing now. The situation on the battlefield is very dangerous.” Chi Xin grasped his hands and looked him straight in the eyes. “That world, those people—they really exist, don’t they? They’re not just a movie like I always thought, right?”

Amid her barely perceptible tension, Chi’s father slowly nodded.

It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from Chi Xin’s chest. She let out a long breath.

“This world is just as real as ours,” Chi’s father said. “I know you’re anxious, so let me explain briefly what’s going on.”

As it turned out, Chi’s father belonged to a race of Creator Gods. Their numbers were extremely small—aside from him, only one other of their kind remained. The two of them were responsible for maintaining the operation of countless worlds, and this post-apocalyptic world was one of them.

In the void, there existed another kind of creature known as the Dark. They survived by feeding on the foundations of worlds. They were everywhere, yet had no physical form, and could only attach themselves to the inhabitants of each world.

When they succeeded, a world would fall and sink into desolation.

Chi’s father had originally been a lofty god, but he fell in love with Chi Xin’s mother. To be with her, he concealed his identity and hid himself within the Milky Way. Only on days he used “business trips” as an excuse would he swiftly travel to other worlds to purge the darkness, then return to continue being a good husband and a good father.

“This sounds like a third-rate novel,” Chi Xin said, her expression complicated.

“I don’t think of myself as a god,” Chi’s father replied. “So-called gods are just a race with longer lifespans and stronger abilities. Look at me—I still grow old.”

Chi Xin nodded. “Then that system—was it created by the Dark?”

“No.” An awkward look suddenly appeared on Chi’s father’s face. “That system… was originally an assistant I made for you.”

Chi Xin: “Huh?”

“But the high-tech interstellar worlds were handled by that old fellow. I’m not very good at that.” Chi’s father scratched his cheek. “I tinkered with it myself… and didn’t expect it to end up causing more trouble than help.”

“Wait.” Chi Xin finally lost her patience. “What exactly did you make it for? To mess with me?”

“My original intention was just to help you grow stronger,” Chi’s father said cautiously. “But like I said, I’m not very good at it. Anyway, it turned out to be too rigid, focusing only on missions. When your consciousness grew strong enough to surpass the effect it could exert, it actually started acting on its own and completing tasks in your place.”

“…So it was just an accident?” Chi Xin fell silent for a moment.

Chi’s father nodded awkwardly. “At the time, I projected the original trajectory of this world into images for it to show you, let you choose your talent points, and then gradually lift your restrictions according to the world’s development… That was my plan.”

Chi Xin sighed helplessly. “Then what about the character who has the same name as me?”

“Before deciding to put you into this world, I modified everyone’s memories,” Chi’s father said. “That character was originally named Wu Qingqing.”

“Good thing you remembered to change the name,” Chi Xin grinned. “So the reason I had to come to this world was because of that… Dark thing?”

At this, Chi’s father’s expression turned slightly solemn. “They were originally lying in wait in this world. But they sensed your existence, and likewise felt the threat you posed to them. If you had stayed in your original world, it could have caused massive casualties in both worlds. I had no choice but to transfer you here temporarily.”

“Was making me grow stronger, bit by bit, also part of your plan?”

“You becoming stronger was never my plan, Xinxin,” Chi’s father said gently. “You were simply reclaiming the power that was rightfully yours. During the time you were here, I’ve already eliminated the Dark in our world. And on this side, with your efforts, they’ve been wiped out as well. So—you can go home now.”

I can go home.

The words entered Chi Xin’s ears so abruptly that she couldn’t react at first.

From the very first second she arrived in this world, she had dreamed of going home—day after day, night after night. And now her father was telling her: “You can go home.”

She said blankly, grasping for words, “I… eliminated the Dark? Why don’t I remember doing that myself?”

“Do you think the loss of control in this world—the technologies and monsters that shouldn’t have existed—were things humans could create?” Chi’s father sighed. “As you gradually cleared away those anomalies and that darkness, the Dark’s power weakened along with it.”

“Raphael was someone possessed by the Dark, wasn’t he?” Chi Xin asked.

Chi’s father nodded. “The reason you fell into a coma was because he was controlled by the Dark and wanted to seize your power to fulfill his own ambition of becoming a god. The powder that drilled into your skin—it was all microchips he created, meant to connect to your brain.”

Even having seen many disgusting things, Chi Xin couldn’t help shuddering. “After he dies, will this world return to normal?”

“It will,” Chi’s father said softly. “You’ve suffered enough, my child. Now, you can leave the rest to me.”

Chi Xin said nothing.

“You have my blood in your veins,” Chi’s father continued. “That gives you many more choices. Xinxin, if you wish, you could even transcend all things and become the ruler of countless worlds. Your strength surpasses mine—you’re fully capable of it.”

Seeing that Chi Xin still didn’t speak, he couldn’t help calling out to her softly, “Xinxin?”

“Dad,” Chi Xin asked, “will I be able to travel between this world and our world in the future?”

“Of course,” Chi’s father replied.

“I understand.” Chi Xin looked very calm. She curved her lips into a smile at him, suddenly resembling the innocent little girl she once was.

“Since this world is my mission, I won’t abandon it,” Chi Xin said. “I’m not saying this as your daughter, but because I’m a person with principles. I believe in seeing things through to the end.”

Chi’s father was taken aback.

“You can stay over there and protect Mom, protect the other worlds,” Chi Xin said with a smile. “But this world also has countless living beings. They deserve protection too.”

Chi’s father fell silent for a moment, then gave her a suspicious look. “You’re sure it’s not because of that guy named Jing Xiubai?”

Heat flared across Chi Xin’s face all at once. “What are you talking about, Dad!”

“Oh.” Chi’s father said lightly. “Then it doesn’t matter if he’s about to die, right?”

Chi Xin froze for several seconds. “What?”

Chi’s father revealed a sly expression and pointed downward.

Chi Xin felt her footing vanish. Her eyes widened, and before she could even cry out, she plunged downward in sudden weightlessness.

“This is the final trial to fully master your power, Xinxin,” Chi’s father’s voice boomed from above, echoing thunderously. “Find yourself again—and then become yourself!”

In the endless void, Chi Xin’s black hair flew wildly. After the initial panic passed, only determination remained in her eyes.

Not only did she take no protective measures, she spread her arms wide, relaxed her body, and let herself fall at high speed.

I have to go back.

The thought ignited in her heart like a raging inferno, scorching her entire soul.

They’re still waiting for me. I have to go back!

Amid tearing pain, her perception of her surroundings suddenly snapped back into her body.

The first thing she heard was despairing shouts. Then she felt herself being held tightly in someone’s arms, her face and body covered in warm liquid.

“Xiubai—”

She heard the name being called, followed by heavy, repeated impacts.

A splash of warm liquid fell.

“Give—her—to me—”

The furious roar of a giant dragon followed.

Chi Xin opened her eyes just in time to see a massive claw slam toward them. As it struck the thick ice wall, countless ice spikes appeared out of nowhere, piercing the dragon and leaving it bleeding profusely.

Chi Xin jolted fully awake.

Using both offensive and defensive abilities at the same time—after everything before—Jing Xiubai was risking his life!

Chi Xin’s heart skipped a beat.

Jing Xiubai was already somewhat delirious, but from beginning to end, he had never let go of Chi Xin. He held her tightly in his arms, protecting her completely, not letting Raphael touch even the corner of her clothes.

Another claw came down. Jing Xiubai gathered the violent energy within his body. With his eyes shut tight, a ruthless expression crossed his face.

Just as the ice wall began to form again, Chi Xin suddenly reached out.

She grabbed one of the manifested ice spikes and thrust it forward with all her strength, piercing straight through the dragon’s claw.

The battlefield fell abruptly silent.

“Chi Xin—”

“It’s Miss Chi! Miss Chi isn’t dead!”

“Oh my god, Miss Chi is fine!”

Jing Xiubai opened his eyes at once.

Meeting his gaze filled with fear of loss, Chi Xin smiled reassuringly and gently covered his eyes with her hand. “You’ve worked hard. Rest for a bit.”

His long eyelashes brushed against her palm. He didn’t dare move, afraid that the moment he blinked, Chi Xin would return to that lifeless state from before.

But she didn’t.

As if she had never been injured at all, Chi Xin stood up directly from his embrace.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The vast energy within her surged like a flood breaking through a dam, roaring through her limbs and bones. An unprecedented sense of control rose from her heart. Chi Xin mobilized that energy and expelled all the microchips that had entered her body.

Seeing the chips he had painstakingly created being forced out, the dragon roared in fury, “How is this possible—!”

“There’s nothing impossible about it,” Chi Xin sneered. “Just as it’s very possible that you’ll die here.”

She gripped the ice spike she had been holding the entire time.

The spike, stained with the dragon’s blood, dripped slowly.

Overwhelmed by shock, Raphael lost control over all the zombies under his command. They were easily slaughtered.

As for the remaining humans who had once been his subordinates, without zombie support, they were quickly overwhelmed and lost their will to fight.

All the survivors turned their eyes toward this side—the decisive battle that would determine the fate of the world.

Chi Xin moved.

Her original speed already exceeded human imagination, sometimes even leaving afterimages. But now, at full speed, she became impossible for the naked eye to track.

The dragon’s pupils shrank. He saw it—but it was too late to react—

The ice spike in Chi Xin’s hand plunged deep into the dragon’s chest.

The dragon slowly lowered his head. “You think this can kill me?”

He was met with Chi Xin’s eerie smile.

“Who said I was going to use this to kill you?”

In the brief seconds it took her to speak, a small handgun suddenly appeared in Chi Xin’s other hand.

“Bullets?” The dragon laughed wildly. “You think something like bullets can—”

“Bang—”

The dragon’s arrogant expression froze.

On his chest, Chi Xin thrust her hand straight into the hole made by the ice spike and fired the gun from inside his body.

As the dragon stared in stunned disbelief, Chi Xin fired several more shots in quick succession, emptying the entire magazine into him.

Ordinary bullets naturally couldn’t harm Raphael’s mutated dragon body.

But specially made biological bullets could.

These bullets, long prepared by Jing Xiubai, were designed specifically to target the zombie virus. The ability-enhancing drugs had evolved from this same principle.

The bullets Chi Xin had never had the chance to use finally played their greatest role at this moment.

Looking into the dragon’s eyes filled with disbelief, Chi Xin formed the shape of a gun with her hand and mouthed, “Bang.”

The light in the dragon’s eyes faded bit by bit. His enormous body crashed down with a thunderous sound, like a massive heap of trash, crushing the zombie horde beneath him.

Chi Xin stood where she was, letting her arm, wrapped in blood, fall to her side.

“Just as you wished—I’ve found myself again.”

All things were silent. Even the birds dared not make a sound.

Under the vast sunlight, she alone commanded all attention, more brilliant and blinding than the sun itself.

…

In the final battle, the number of human casualties was likewise enormous. Just cleaning up the battlefield took a full week.

During that time, everyone frantically searched for Chi Xin, desperate to vent the worship in their hearts. Yet she seemed to have vanished like a hidden god—no matter how hard they searched, they couldn’t find her.

Meanwhile, Chi Xin had already ridden a heavy motorcycle at breakneck speed hundreds of kilometers away.

There was only one passenger on the back seat. And as their silhouettes passed through the sunset, mixed with Chi Xin’s unrestrained laughter was a weak male voice.

“Can we change vehicles? Can we? I clearly saw you store it in your spatial inventory…”

—End of the main story—