Thien Anh said nothing, merely offering a subtle hand signal. Understanding instantly, Lam Linh secured her specialized respirator; Thien Anh did the same. Thien Lang, however, had no such need; the toxins within the smoke bomb were synthesized from Azure Sky's own venom. Given Thien Lang's hyper-evolved physiology, the mist would, at most, cause a minor spell of dizziness.
Pressing against the wall beside the room where the armed syndicate was entrenched, Thien Anh decisively yanked the pin and hurled the smoke grenade through the shattered door frame.
Hiiiiisssssss…
In seconds, a thick, opaque white veil filled the confined space. Those standing nearest to the entrance, who inadvertently inhaled the toxic mist, tasted hell immediately. Their worlds spun, their complexions turned a bruised cyanosis, and violent spasms racked their frames.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Seven or eight men, unable to react in time, collapsed onto the floor. They frothed pink-stained bile, their bodies arching and twisting like scorched shrimp in their terminal throes, eyes rolled back to reveal only white as they expired in absolute agony.
The survivors, realizing the Specter of Death was calling their names, needed no prompting. They wrapped their faces in clothing and launched a frantic, desperate charge into the corridor to find air. But they didn't anticipate the "lethal net" Thien Anh had already woven at the threshold.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sharp, staccato cracks of his submachine gun echoed. Two men who poked their heads out were instantly shredded, their bodies turned into sieves by the high-velocity lead. They slumped into pools of their own gore without having the chance to utter a single shriek.
Thien Anh glanced at Lam Linh, his voice cold and mechanical over the comms:
"Stay centered. One round, one kill. Do not waste lead."
Lam Linh didn't reply; she simply offered a sharp nod, her eyes like flint, never wavering from the doorway of Room 703. While she focused her fire on the front, Thien Anh assumed the role of rear sentinel.
His assassin instincts whispered that the enemy numbers were not limited to this room. Sure enough, warned by Azure Sky—his "eyes in the back of his head"—Thien Anh detected another armed squad rounding the rear corridor to execute a flanking maneuver. An inexperienced fighter would have been crushed in this pincer trap, facing a fate worse than death: capture.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The moment three hostiles appeared at the bend, Thien Anh opened fire. Three precise rounds punched through their craniums, terminating them on the spot. The remaining men recoiled in terror, entrenching themselves behind the wall, not daring to peek out. Thien Anh gave them no time to regroup, yanking a grenade and hurling it toward their position.
KABOOM!
As the shockwave from the blast settled, agonizing shrieks immediately filled the hallway: "Ah… agh… help me…!"
Though he couldn't see them directly, Thien Anh understood perfectly how the steel shrapnel from the grenade had devastated their bodies. He turned to Thien Lang, issuing a command:
"Kill any who resist. Keep the rest alive for interrogation."
Thien Lang let out a low, guttural growl and blurred into motion. Simultaneously, the roar of Lam Linh's submachine gun erupted with renewed intensity.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The syndicate members within Room 703, unable to endure the neurotoxins any longer, chose a suicidal charge over suffocation. Lam Linh, honed by weeks of hunting Ghouls, was no longer the frail doctor she once was. Though this was her first time taking human life and her nerves were frayed, her years of clinical exposure to cadavers allowed her to reclaim a cold, visceral calm.
She dropped two more, but the survivors began employing professional "rush" tactics: some lunged high, others rolled low to disperse her fire.
BANG! BANG! RAT-TAT-TAT!
A fierce, localized firefight erupted in the narrow corridor. Bullets shrieked past, biting into the stone walls and creating showers of blinding sparks.
Click!
Her gun ran dry at the critical juncture. As Lam Linh moved to draw her secondary weapon, a stray round punched directly into her left arm.
"AH!"
She cried out in sharp agony. Instinctively, she ducked her frame low—a move that saved her life as another round ricocheted off her respirator. The bullet merely grazed the mask and deflected; otherwise, her life would have ended then and there.
Thien Anh observed the entire scene with a detachment that was truly terrifying. In his eyes, there was no trace of panic or concern. He had witnessed too many comrades fall to not understand a fundamental truth of the battlefield: the moment you worry for another, you forfeit your own life. He tightened his grip on his rifle, his breathing remaining rhythmic and steady as he prepared to deliver the bloody finale.