CH660 · Rewrite
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Chapter 660: Manifestation of Power

Roland spent the day cycling through every television channel.

The martial fighting competitions were nothing like boxing or freestyle combat. The arenas were large — half a football field, at minimum — with no referee inside the boundary and no rounds counted, no intervals interrupting the exchange. Fighters broke the flooring in the heat of it. The sound when two of them connected was a report like muffled thunder, too large for the human bodies that had produced it. The audience noise was sustained and enormous in a way that stadium sports rarely sustained.

He watched a man called Hurricane — nickname Mighty Storm — throw dozens of blows in the space of a single second, his arms becoming something other than arms in the process. Roland found the fight itself compelling; he found the promotional decision to broadcast the nickname in advance, revealing the fighter’s signature ability to every future opponent, baffling.

Then he saw the demon.

A Mad Demon — tall, large-armed, wearing no mask and no gloves, its fangs and three-fingered hands clearly visible on screen. The commentator introduced it as a foreign martialist and moved on. The crowd showed no sign of alarm. The broadcast continued as though this were unremarkable.

Roland sat back.

This was how the Dream World accommodated the demon that Zero had devoured: it had made it a racial minority, a competitor in a legitimate sport, a foreigner from an unspecified elsewhere. Zero’s subconscious had absorbed the memory and the Dream World had rationalized it into the existing social fabric. He wondered briefly what Liftshertail — robust, vigorous, perpetually cheerful — had become in this world, and decided he wasn’t sure he wanted to know yet.

When his stomach announced the time, he noticed the window had gone orange. Zero usually came home well before sunset.

He checked the clock. Quarter past six. Her cram school ended at half past five.

He stood up, started to dismiss the concern — she was thirteen, she had friends, summer evenings ran long and she might be in a park or game room entirely by choice — and had almost convinced himself when the television programming interrupted itself.

“Good evening, viewers. We interrupt our regular programming for a breaking report.”

The anchor’s expression was specifically controlled, the kind of face trained to communicate seriousness without panic. “A No. 29 bus has been hijacked on Zhongshan Road. The hijacker is armed with a knife. Traffic police have sealed the surrounding streets. Residents in the area are advised to remain indoors. We will update you as the situation develops.”

The footage cut to the street. A crowd behind police cordons. Stopped traffic in both directions.

Roland felt it before he’d finished the thought.

Zero’s regular bus route was Zhongshan Road.

He was already moving toward the door.

He didn’t want to examine the exact shape of his concern — it wasn’t simply that she was a girl on a hijacked bus. It was what Zero was in this world. A key figure, a nexus the Dream World had formed around, someone whose imagination had given this entire construction its internal logic. He had read her diary; he had some sense of how she thought. If something permanently removed her from this place — if the subconscious lost its anchor — he didn’t know what would happen to the Dream World, whether it would end, whether he would wake and forget it entirely. He didn’t want to find out.

He ran.

Something warm moved through his legs as he ran, cycling from core to limb and back, settling his breathing and steadying his stride in a way that had nothing to do with technique. Three kilometers passed in eight minutes at a pace he would have called sprinting, but he wasn’t breathing the way you breathe after a sprint. He dodged every pedestrian without losing momentum, adjusting his path between heartbeats. The Force of Nature was not dramatic — it didn’t announce itself. It was simply present, doing the work, as if running at this speed were the natural state and everything slower was artificial constraint.

He arrived at the police cordon on Zhongshan Road.

The situation was already over.

The hijacker sat on the curb in handcuffs, weeping, telling anyone who would listen that he hadn’t meant it, that it had been an impulse. The crowd around the cordon was dispersing. Traffic police began clearing the barriers, directing the first cars through. A bus — he couldn’t tell if it was the No. 29 — sat empty near the far end of the sealed-off block.

Zero wasn’t on it. He scanned the dispersing crowd and didn’t see her.

Ran all this way for nothing.

He turned to leave.

From a narrow lane off the main road, almost too faint to place: a voice calling for help.

He stopped.

The lane ran between two buildings whose upper floors blocked all the remaining daylight. The entrance was already dark and the light inside would be worse. He waited, one hand on the lane’s corner wall.

Nothing.

He began to move on.

The sound came again — quieter this time, almost swallowed by the city noise behind him. Someone with very little strength left, or someone trying not to be heard by the wrong people.

The warmth in his body was different now. It had quickened — not the steady current of running, but something more insistent, pulling him toward the lane’s entrance with a quality he could only describe as recognition.

He stepped into the dark.

His eyes adjusted. The lane was narrow enough that the buildings on both sides nearly met overhead, and the darkness was thorough. He made out the lane’s length — twenty, maybe thirty meters — and at the far end, a figure standing with its back to him.

“Are you calling for help?” Roland asked.

The figure didn’t respond in any ordinary way.

The head rotated.

Not the head turning — the head rotating, pivoting at the neck without the body moving, swinging around 180 degrees to face backward. Roland’s breath caught.

The face was wrong. Skin blackened and raised in blisters, as though fire had done its work and left something barely remaining. On the forehead, where a forehead’s unmarked skin should be, a dark red cyclone turned — luminous, slow, self-contained — casting a dim pulse of light across the lane walls.

It was looking at him.

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