IABI – Chapter 75 Godslayer

Boss Lin’s actions caught everyone completely off guard.

This ruthless, selfish, greedy, and cunning businessman — one who never did anything without profit in mind — at that moment, abandoned all his schemes and calculations. His heart was filled only with the thought of the child who was about to be harmed.

For someone born to plot, whose very bones carried the art of manipulation — in that instant when he threw himself forward to shield another, did his mind still flash with thoughts of profit?

Chi Xin didn’t know. No one ever would.

She watched, wide-eyed, as the sandworm’s enormous, terrifying mouth lunged downward and swallowed the figure in the black robe whole.

“—Ahhh!”

A heart-wrenching cry burst through the earpiece — Chi Xin recognized it instantly as Rong Feng’s voice.

She looked up and saw a sniper rifle thrust deep into the sandworm’s gaping maw. Rong Feng, ignoring how his arm was shredded and dripping with blood from the creature’s razor-sharp teeth, fired madly. Judging by the rapid succession of gunfire, he didn’t even lift his finger from the trigger.

But the sandworm seemed hell-bent on devouring them both. It ignored the bullets piercing its flesh, and even as its mouth was torn open by gunfire, it let out a thunderous roar, the sharp fangs still slowly clamping shut.

Rong Feng’s arm was being swallowed inch by inch.

“Ah Feng—!”

The despairing cry of their teammates thundered through the earpiece. Chi Xin closed her eyes for a brief moment.

Her heart, which had been pounding wildly, began to steady. Then she suddenly opened her eyes again — that strange, transcendent state she had fallen into before returned in full force.

Rong Feng’s contorted face, Boss Lin’s half-mangled body twitching with exposed muscle and veins, and the horror and anguish in her companions’ eyes — all of it was captured in her vision.

In the next instant, strength surged back into her numbed limbs. The hand gripping her blade trembled once — and then flared with blinding light.

Chi Xin moved — as swift as an arrow.

Moments ago, she had been entangled in the sandworm’s thick coils, unable to move, which had given it the chance to attack others.

But now, her fingers clawed deep into the sandworm’s flesh. Muscles along her arm bulged with explosive power as she let out a low cry and wrenched herself free of its grip.

She leapt high, light and agile, darting forward several meters in a blur — so fast that her afterimage lingered in the air.

The forked tail chasing her struck again and again but failed to hit its target. Instead, each missed blow smashed into the rocks, amplifying the creature’s agony.

Just as the sandworm’s fangs were about to close — ready to swallow Rong Feng’s arm and what remained of Boss Lin — Chi Xin arrived.

Her speed was so great it felt as though she had crossed the distance in the blink of an eye.

Then she stopped abruptly. Her black hair continued to drift forward from inertia, brushing lightly across Rong Feng’s cheek.

His wild, desperate expression froze, and his trembling eyes met hers.

Her gaze was no longer the cold, unfeeling one from before. From the depths of her eyes flowed a power — serene, gentle, vast and encompassing like the sea.

Meeting that look, Rong Feng’s expression slowly softened. He glanced at his own arm buried inside the creature’s mouth and gave Chi Xin a faint, bitter smile.

“Goodbye.”

He knew well how difficult it had been for her to fight this monster. One wrong move could mean injury or death — he had seen it all.

And yet she still came — to save him.

A tenderness filled his gaze. A thousand words rose to his lips, but he could only manage a farewell.

He thought this was the end.

The others thought so too. Jiang Congyun even covered her eyes, sobbing helplessly. Against such an overwhelming, fatal attack, her ability was useless.

But then, Yu Xiang frantically tugged at her sleeve. He had forgotten his mic was still open to the entire team, and his excited, trembling voice rang out in everyone’s ears:

“Congyun! Look — look! Damn it, LOOK!”

Startled by the shout, everyone who had shut their eyes in grief opened them again in shock.

Still firing continuously, eyes locked on Chi Xin as if carving her image into his soul, Rong Feng suddenly froze.

He saw Chi Xin — calm-faced, offering him a faint smile. Gentle and serene — yet amid the blood splattered on her cheeks and the wind-tossed black hair, there was something fierce and deadly in her aura.

“You spoke too soon, Ah Feng.”

Her voice was soft, like a breeze brushing across their wounded hearts.

And then — this seemingly gentle girl raised her long blade and brought it down hard upon the creature’s massive head.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

In both skill and sheer combat power, few in the world could rival Chi Xin.

But now, she abandoned all technique — relying solely on raw, unrestrained strength, unleashing the most brutal assault imaginable upon that colossal head.

The edge of her blade gleamed with lethal precision. Forged by an ancient master, this divine weapon sang in her hands, its brilliance unmatched.

Before their stunned eyes, each of Chi Xin’s strikes tore deeply into the sandworm’s flesh, each blow landing perfectly atop the last — until she hacked open a gaping wound across its neck, wide enough to fit a person inside.

Jiang Congyun lowered her trembling hands. Rong Feng’s finger slipped unconsciously from the trigger.

“ROAR—!”

The sniper rifle still jammed into its upper jaw, the sandworm howled in pain. Beset from both sides, its agony forced it to release its prey. It turned, fangs bared, and lunged toward Chi Xin in fury.

Chi Xin leapt backward, landing lightly atop its coiled body. Her bloodstained blade dripped red. Gone was the gentleness she’d shown Rong Feng — her eyes now glowed with calm determination.

She looked as if she had expected this all along.

That monstrous sandworm — as powerful and ancient as a god — suddenly appeared fragile. Under her assault, its neck was now barely attached to its body, its massive head swaying precariously.

Gasps filled the comm channel.

Chi Xin turned to the dumbstruck Rong Feng and said a single word —

“Run.”

Rong Feng’s face twisted in fierce struggle. He looked at Chi Xin, then down at the nearly lifeless Boss Lin in his arms.

“Go!”

Chi Xin leapt up and landed atop the sandworm’s massive, quivering head. Her eyes glinted with a command that allowed no refusal. “Find Congyun—maybe he can still be saved!”

Rong Feng shuddered violently. He gritted his teeth so hard the muscles in his face trembled. “…Got it.”

He carefully lifted Boss Lin, not daring to look back, and sprinted toward the rest of the squad.

Once Rong Feng had safely left the sandworm’s attack range, Chi Xin narrowed her eyes, steadying herself by gripping one of the creature’s giant teeth. Just as it was about to snap its jaws shut, she swung her scabbard down with a sharp clang!

A tooth shattered. The sandworm let out a shriek of agony, its half-broken head thrashing wildly as it tried to throw Chi Xin off. Blood rained down like a storm.

But Chi Xin jammed her blade into its flesh, anchoring herself firmly in place, leaving the creature unable to shake her loose.

Then it turned its head—locking onto a larger, easier group of prey.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Chi Xin instantly sensed its intent. With a twist of her wrist, she rotated the blade embedded in its skull, sending a convulsion through its entire body. “Your opponent is me! Keep your eyes here!”

Chi Xin drew the gun from her thigh holster and fired several rounds at the sacklike gland along the sandworm’s neck.

Bang! Bang!

The shots hit true. The worm’s huge body froze mid-thrash, then erupted in a deafening, hysterical screech.

That was its weak point—no other injury, not even a near-severed head, had drawn such a reaction.

Chi Xin had to drive her blade a bit deeper just to keep herself from being flung off.

Then, at the edge of the ancient city, came a faint crack.

It was quiet—but when the same sound echoed all around the city’s perimeter, overlapping into a strange rhythmic hum, everyone’s attention was drawn to it.

“What’s happening?” Chi Xin asked.

The others were just as bewildered—for a heartbeat.

Then, the next instant, they all realized what that sound meant.

The ancient city was collapsing. The entire battlefield was turning into rubble. Far in the distance, they could even see giant ants and zombies tearing at one another.

In that near-panoramic ruin, Chi Xin clearly saw the edges of the city begin to split apart. Cracks widened into deep fissures, and from within them, a blue light shimmered outward.

Her pupils contracted. A single thought struck her like lightning.

“This is… a barrier!“ Yu Xiang’s voice came through her earpiece at the same moment, confirming what she had just realized.

As the whole city began to move, the pressure and dread it radiated became suffocating.

From the blue glow, metallic walls began to rise from the gaps—slowly, but relentlessly—unfolding upward.

It was easy to imagine that, once fully extended, it would form a colossal dome blotting out the sky.

Chi Xin was awestruck by the sight—this fusion of technology and power—until the sandworm beneath her started convulsing again, churning like a stormy sea. She barely had time to marvel before dread surged up.

Her head snapped toward the squad’s position, and she screamed with a voice full of raw desperation:

“Run—!”

According to Jing Xiubai’s explanation, that barrier was designed to seal the sandworm in. Considering the creature’s power, it was clear how formidable the seal must be.

If they didn’t escape now, they’d be trapped inside with it—entombed forever in darkness.

But for the first time, her command went unheeded.

Chi Xin turned amid the chaos and saw that her teammates—though their bullets were long spent—remained exactly where they were.

With her sharp vision, she could even make out Yu Xiang’s playful grin.

“If we can’t even stay with you, Goddess Chi, then you’re really underestimating us,” Yu Xiang’s cheerful voice came through the comms. “Sure, what we’re doing looks like some kind of tragic goddess-and-her-devotees nonsense… but if the goddess is you, who could possibly object?”

Chi Xin froze.

“Old Chen said it before—if ordinary people can do something for this world, that’s not such a bad thing,” Chen Xing’s deep voice rumbled. “If I can see you take down this monster, I can die with no regrets.”

“Sister Chi, we’ll stay with you,” Yong Ning said softly but firmly.

Then came Leonid’s heavy-accented voice: “Sister Chi. Goddess.”

Rong Feng said nothing—but he sat there, holding Boss Lin, his body utterly still, like an ancient stone.

Chi Xin’s throat trembled. She blinked hard to clear her eyes. “Congyun—you’re the calm one. Take them and go!”

Jiang Congyun’s tone carried gentle warmth, but his words were unyielding. “Xin Xin, if you think we’d abandon you to die alone, then you don’t know us at all.”

Chi Xin’s chest tightened—the mix of anger, fear, and helpless laughter twisting her face. “You guys…”

The sandworm below them seemed to sense something too. Its huge body reared up, but instead of attacking—it was trying to escape through the still-open gap in the sky!

Chi Xin would never allow that.

She swallowed back her words, gritted her teeth, yanked her blade free, and slid down the slick surface of the worm’s body. Following the curve of its rise, she aimed straight for her target—the sand gland.

With all her strength, she slashed down hard!

Having evolved again, Chi Xin’s strike cut easily through the creature’s tough hide—especially at its most vulnerable point.

A scream split the heavens. The entire worm convulsed violently, then plunged straight downward.

As it fell, Chi Xin thought she heard a distant droning sound.

At first, she thought it was her imagination—but it grew louder, closer, unmistakably real.

Yu Xiang gasped. “A helicopter?”

That word triggered a fierce surge of hope in Chi Xin’s chest. She looked up—

—and saw a helicopter roar past overhead.

In the cockpit sat none other than Jing Xiubai.

Jing Xiubai flew overhead, his gaze lowering until it met Chi Xin’s directly.

Chi Xin couldn’t quite tell what emotions flickered in his eyes, but a surge of wild joy swept through her. Her voice came out slightly hoarse: “Jing Xiubai, you really are the male lead of a movie.”

All protagonists love the grand finale — the one where they go all out and save everyone.

The sky was growing bright. The blazing morning sun streamed in from the distance. Chi Xin closed her eyes slightly, feeling an unfamiliar calm settle in her heart.

“Don’t come down,” she said firmly, forcing the trembling sandworm beneath her under control. She had already predicted Jing Xiubai’s intentions with precision. “Take everyone and leave first.”

Half the barrier had already been erected. Shadows were slowly pushing the sunlight back. Through the earpiece, Jing Xiubai’s breathing was heavy and uneven.

In the end, he said nothing, but jerked the control stick sharply. The helicopter turned away.

Chi Xin knew the others wouldn’t leave her behind easily. Before they could object, she issued a cold, commanding order:

“Now. Immediately. Don’t waste time.”

“Do as Chi Xin says,” Jing Xiubai’s voice came through, cold and forcedly calm. With both leaders giving the same order, the rest of the team followed without question.

Realizing they’d finally yielded, Chi Xin let out a long breath of relief.

She looked down at the sandworm beneath her. On that eyeless creature’s face — if it could be called that — she actually sensed a faint trace of fear.

“Don’t tremble,” she said softly. “It’s a fine day today. Perfect for slaying gods.”

As she spoke, she raised a heavy machine gun with one hand and plunged the muzzle deep into the gash she’d split open in its body. Then she pulled the trigger hard.

“ROAR—ROAR—!”

Driven mad by despair, the sandworm thrashed violently. In an effort to throw Chi Xin off, it ignored the gaping wound at its neck and repeatedly smashed its massive head against the ground.

Every time it tried to rise, Chi Xin pressed it back down with ruthless force.

Her face remained expressionless, her eyes cold. Her movements were merciless and precise. When the gun ran out of bullets, she didn’t even pause — she switched weapons with a flick of space manipulation, another gun appearing instantly in her hands.

Bang after bang, she fired relentlessly at the same wound.

The sandworm writhed in agony, rolling and twisting, trying desperately to escape. But each time it crashed against the tightening barrier, its body scraped against the metal with a nauseating screech.

To it, Chi Xin was like a poison that clung to the bone — dragging it inch by inch toward death. It couldn’t die yet, but there was no hope of survival either.

Chi Xin changed guns again.

She lifted her head. The helicopter was flying through the last gap in the barrier, carrying the group of people she loved most in this world.

The barrier was closing — slowly but surely. The remaining gap was already too small for the sandworm’s massive body to squeeze through.

A faint smile appeared on Chi Xin’s lips.

In this world of apocalypse, where she had reigned without fear, she suddenly smelled the faint scent of death.

Was she afraid of dying? she asked herself.

Yes.

The honest answer made a spark flash in her eyes. She glanced at the struggling sandworm and let out a soft, mocking laugh.

“For you? You think I’d throw my life away for you?”

The closing barrier cast a deep shadow over her face, but the expression she wore was one of absolute confidence and disdain.

She rummaged through her spatial storage and found a single, precious item — something she had long treasured and only had one of.

The firearm in her hands disappeared. What replaced it looked like another heavy machine gun — almost ordinary in appearance.

But the moment she held it, its sheer weight made even Chi Xin’s strong arms sink slightly. This weapon was heavy — truly heavy.

Her muscles tensed, lines of strength rippling down her arms as she hoisted it onto her shoulder.

Her gaze grew solemn. Amid the sandworm’s frenzied, self-destructive lunges, she aimed steadily at the deep fissure she’d already torn open.

Her mind supplied an automatic annotation:

“Wrist Arrow” Missile. A small missile, only a few dozen centimeters long and weighing several kilograms. Despite its size, it was named a missile — the new assassin of the battlefield.

“You wish,” Chi Xin said, almost kindly, in farewell.

The missile was jammed deep into the creature’s torn flesh. Chi Xin instantly dropped the now-useless launcher, spun, and vaulted upward, her foot landing on the slick inner wall of the barrier.

Her foot slipped. Chi Xin gritted her teeth, mentally counting down the seconds before detonation. Her pupils reflected the last sliver of light from the closing gap.

She could make it. She would make it. She had to make it!

She pushed her body to its absolute limit, her movements a blur of speed. On that smooth metallic surface, there was only one tactic that worked — faster!

Before the faintest trace of friction could react, she propelled herself upward!

Now—!

Chi Xin leapt, tearing free from the barrier, her entire body soaring upward toward the faint morning light.

It was far. Could she reach it? Could she survive?

Her heart raced with the thrill of a desperate gamble. She left everything to fate — even closed her eyes.

Suddenly, the hum of rotor blades filled her ears. Chi Xin’s eyes flew open in disbelief — the helicopter was forcing its way back through the narrow gap!

Jing Xiubai’s piloting was as audacious as Yu Xiang’s driving. He pulled off a sharp maneuver, the rotors whipping up such fierce wind that Chi Xin nearly got blown off course.

An ice wall appeared beneath her midair — she landed heavily on it. The next instant, the roaring blades swept past overhead, and Chi Xin jumped again, catching a strong, outstretched arm.

“BOOM—CRACK—BANG—!”

At that very moment, the missile detonated below. The explosion erupted in dazzling light, and the blast wave struck the helicopter hard, throwing it off balance!

“Chi Xin! Xiubai?!”

Her teammates’ panicked shouts crackled through the earpiece. Chi Xin looked at Jing Xiubai’s face — calm yet burning with madness.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

“Of course.”

His reply was crisp, firm. Hands steady on the controls, he pushed the throttle to the max, driving the shaking helicopter toward the rapidly closing gap.

His next words were almost swallowed by the roar of the explosion: “I’m afraid I won’t reach you in time.”

Chi Xin blinked — and then the helicopter burst through the barrier’s final opening.

Suddenly, the view widened — endless blue sky and blazing sunlight flooded her vision. She squinted, her heart filling with disbelief.

They… made it out?

Crack.

A sharp sound split the air.

Jing Xiubai’s face changed instantly.

Chi Xin’s heart sank. She whipped around — just in time to see the barrier sealing shut completely, trapping the explosion and the sandworm inside forever.

But not just them — it had also taken the helicopter’s tail!

Chi Xin: “!!!”

Her breath froze.

Through the chaos, Jing Xiubai’s voice came, distant but steady: “Chi Xin, can you swim?”

She barely had time to process the words before the helicopter tilted sharply — plummeting downward like a lead ball.

The moment stretched — both instant and endless.

Then — thud! The impact hit, the fall slowed, and cold river water surged up from all sides, engulfing Chi Xin completely.

“I can’t,” was the last thing she managed to say.

Who would’ve thought — Chi Xin, unstoppable on land and in the sky, was actually a landlubber who couldn’t swim?

The realization struck her as she sank deeper. Her body went rigid; all her agility and grace vanished. She could only flail weakly, eyes squeezed shut.

The helicopter that had just saved her life became a prison — her fists pounded uselessly against its frame, producing dull thuds.

Then, a pair of hands reached out from the side — gentle but strong — wrapping around her shoulders and waist, pulling her from the cage of fear.

Those hands guided her upward. Chi Xin instinctively tried to speak, but only a stream of bubbles escaped her lips, followed by a painful wave of suffocation.

Fingers pinched her nose. Then — soft lips pressed against hers. A breath of clean air flowed into her lungs, snapping her consciousness back.

Tiny bubbles slipped from the corners of her eyes.

She was awake — but it didn’t feel real.

Jing Xiubai’s handsome features filled her blurred vision, magnified to the extreme. Her heart thudded violently, the sheer shock nearly overwhelming her.

The underwater world was silent and vast. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if only the two of them existed.

The kiss broke gently, and once he was sure she could breathe, Jing Xiubai continued pulling her upward.

With a splash, they broke through the surface. Chi Xin gasped for air, her head tilting back as sunlight hit her face once more.