The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 93 - Slicing through

Jian stepped out of the room as silently as he could, every nerve in his body screaming for caution.

His bare feet hit the floor with a sickening squelch—it was coated in a thick layer of slime, slick and viscous, clinging to his skin like rot.

"Fuck.." His breath caught as he nearly slipped, steadying himself on the wall with a muffled gasp.

He didn't know where he was going. Only that he had to move.

Fast.

The walls pulsed faintly, alive somehow, and the faint echo of clicking could be heard in the distance—alien voices, far away but not far enough.

I can't get caught again. I can't.

He stumbled forward, the wound on his neck throbbing with every heartbeat, the jagged pain in his palms pulsing like fire. He turned a corner—and halted.

There, embedded in the wall, was a glass case.

Inside, rows of dark, alien swords were displayed like rare trophies. But among them, something called to him.

One black jagged sword gleamed faintly, its surface etched with veins of gold that shimmered subtly under the low alien light. Unlike the others, it didn't look entirely foreign.

It looked... beautiful.

Familiar.

Without thinking, Jian raised his bloodied fist and punched the glass. The sharp crack of impact shattered the silence.

Pain burst through his knuckles as the glass splintered, slicing his already torn skin open. He reached in, ignoring the sting of shards, and grasped the sword's hilt.

It felt right.

The moment his fingers closed around it, a low hum vibrated through the air. The blade shimmered more brightly, gold veins pulsing with life.

He staggered back, sword in hand, and took off down the corridor again—faster this time. The slime splattered underfoot, cold against his legs. He gripped the sword tightly, even though it made his bleeding palms scream in pain.

The corridors twisted like a maze, all the same cold metal and pulsing walls. No windows. No signs. No sense of direction.

Where's the exit?

Where the hell am I?

His breathing grew heavier. The pain in his body started to dull into a dangerous numbness. Every breath he took tasted like metal and blood. But he kept moving.

Clicking sounds echoed again—closer this time. Jian's grip on the sword tightened. Fear clawed at his chest, but he forced himself to press on, turning left, then right, then left again.

He paused at a four-way split, disoriented. Which way?

Then, behind him—

A low thud.

His heart stopped. He didn't look back. He just ran.

The sword glowed faintly in his hand. Jian's legs burned, lungs heaved, but he refused to slow down.

I can't die here. Not until I see Grandfather again. Not until I find the others...

Not until I make Bian pay.

Tears welled in his eyes but never fell. He didn't have the strength to cry. All he had was the sword, the silence, and a hope so desperate it burned in his chest like fire.

Gripping the sword tightly, he bolted down the corridor, unsure of where he was going—only that he needed to get out.

But escape wasn't easy.

Two shadows emerged ahead of him—two of the octopus-like creatures, their slimy tendrils twitching in alarm the moment they spotted him.

{'How did he escape!!'}

{'Restrain him! Quickly—'}

Jian didn't falter.

He let out a guttural cry and charged.

If he was going to die, he'd go down swinging. Not helpless on a slab. Not as their meal.

The golden sword met flesh with a flash of light. The first alien didn't even have time to react—its body split cleanly in half, crashing wetly onto the ground. The second let out a shrill, echoing click—an alert. A warning.

Jian turned and slashed again, slicing it through with one blow, spraying black ichor onto the walls. His eyes were wild now, chest heaving, arms trembling.

Then the alarms began.

Blaring. Red. Endless.

Pulsing lights lit up the entire hallway. Sirens howled. Jian flinched as the noise pierced his skull, his knees nearly buckling. His wounds burned. His back was slick with sweat and blood.

Then came the clicking.

Dozens.

Far down the corridor.

Coming closer.

Jian backed away, sword still clutched tightly in his hand, heart hammering like it would burst from his chest. The golden metal pulsed faintly in sync with his heartbeat.

He could barely breathe.

But he stood tall.

He was bleeding, broken, hunted.

And still alive.

"I'm not prey," he whispered hoarsely. "Come get me. I dare you."

The clicking grew louder.

But so did the fire in his chest.

The first wave came fast.

Tentacled limbs whipped through the air, claws and slime and glinting alien eyes.

Jian didn't flinch.

He moved—not gracefully, but like a man who had nothing to lose.

The sword arced in a golden flash, slicing clean through two aliens with a single strike.

Their black ichor splattered onto the metal walls, sizzling where it landed. Another leapt at him with a shrill click, but he ducked, his body screaming as he spun and drove the blade through its soft underbelly. It collapsed in a twitching heap.

He stumbled forward, barely staying upright. His legs felt like they were made of smoke. His wound throbbed. His forehead bled, a warm trickle tracing down his jaw. Still, he pressed on.

More aliens poured in. Jian was faster.

Or maybe he was just more desperate.

He moved like a man fueled by memory—the image of his grandfather's tired smile. The sword danced in his hands. Alien screams filled the corridor. More bodies fell. He didn't stop.

He Couldn't stop.

He hacked. He slashed. He cried out with every movement.

The walls ran black with blood.

And finally, finally... there was silence.

Jian collapsed to one knee, panting. His sword hung loosely in his grip, the golden glow now dimmer. Smoke curled from the hallway. The floor beneath him was slick with blood—his own, and that of the monsters.

Somewhere ahead, a metallic door hissed open.

Jian forced himself to rise. His legs shook. His vision doubled. But he walked. Step by step. Dragging his feet. Blood trailed behind him in thick red-gold streaks.

He emerged Into the open.

Cold wind slapped his face.

For a moment, he just stood there, blinking at the sudden light.

Then his gaze lifted—and his breath caught in his throat.

Above the distant city skyline, dozens of alien ships hovered in silence. Massive, obsidian vessels blotted out the stars, their underbellies glowing faintly. They looked like shadows cast by giants.

He stared at them in absolute fear.

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The Invasion had begun.

Tears welled in his eyes—not just from pain, but from rage. From grief. From the hopelessness of it all.