VESSEL - Extinction Countdown 969: Human Weapon

“Brothers! Tear ‘em apart!”

Yellow Hair bellows, swinging a steel pipe as he charges. The others surge forward, frenzied, like wild beasts.

Two women stand in their way. If it were a gang of brutes, these thugs would’ve faltered. Cowards, every last one—same as all lowlives.

Pork Fat’s face drains of color. “Don’t attack!” he screams.

Too late. Yellow Hair’s pipe swings toward You Long’er’s head. Bottles and stools fly through the air, hurled by the mob.

In an instant, something unnatural hums through the air—a vibration that seems to halt time. Yellow Hair freezes, his raised arm whipped back by an unseen force, striking his own face.

The airborne bottles and stools don’t just break—they burst, splitting into halves, quarters, eighths, until the cramped space can’t contain the shards. They explode like fireworks, scattering in a deadly spray.

A chill races up Pork Fat’s spine, his scalp tingling.

It’s him! The man from Dragon Gate Inn’s underground siege, who slaughtered hundreds of Hong Gang men alone.

Pork Fat wasn’t at the front then, but from afar, he glimpsed Ye Shisan’s face.

This is the “Human Demon” the survivors whispered of—the nightmare of Dragon Gate Inn.

But his cry comes too late.

Pork Fat watches, horrified, as limbs—red and white—launch toward the ceiling, shredded by an unstoppable force. They fragment into countless pieces, falling like blood rain, coating the floor.

Yellow Hair, at the forefront, vanishes. His place is now a human-shaped mist of blood, carved countless times by an invisible blade.

No screams, no groans—just the crack and splat of flesh. Eerily, the nearby tables and chairs remain untouched.

Pork Fat panics. He’s the only one reacting right—crouching, clutching his head—as his crew’s mangled bodies collapse, reduced to gore and chunks.

A thought strikes him. He scrambles back, gun raised, eyes bloodshot. “Stay back! Stay back, or I’ll kill her!”

His barrel points a few steps away, where a teenage thug, dazed by the slaughter, grips Vanilla.

Vanilla, bound and gagged, thrashes. Seizing the thug’s lapse, she bites his hand hard.

He yelps, snapping awake, then kicks her brutally before fleeing.

Vanilla’s face slams the floor with a sickening thud. She cries, “Uncle Shisan!”

The unseen carnage pauses for a moment. Pork Fat lunges like a dog, yanking Vanilla up as a shield. “Don’t move! Don’t! What the hell are you—”

The word “you” chokes off. His vision blurs, then sharpens.

From Pork Fat’s view, the floor rushes up. He tumbles, glimpsing his own body—still standing, but his face is split at the nose, the upper skull gone.

Something grazes Vanilla’s hair, slicing through Pork Fat’s shoulder. Everything above his collarbone flies off. His body tilts, a geyser of red and black erupting from his chest. How does such a scrawny frame hold such pressure?

His corpse stands briefly. His hands, freed from his shoulders, still clutch Vanilla. They dangle, severed stumps dragging the floor, spraying blood.

Blood and fluids drench Vanilla’s face. She screams, terrified, “Uncle Shisan! Save me!”

The chaos stuns Yi Qing and You Long’er. A massive, dreadful force behind them shoves them aside without mercy.

Ye Shisan steps toward Vanilla.

Yi Qing reacts. “Ye Shisan! Stop! That’s Vanilla!”

You Long’er reaches for him, but an unseen force hurls her meters away, crashing into a booth with a clatter.

Ye Shisan approaches Vanilla and kneels.

Vanilla, trembling, throws her arms around him. “Uncle Shisan, I’m so scared!”

As she touches him, an invisible field envelops them. Their hair and clothes flare outward, as if the energy finds balance.

For a fleeting moment, the unseen force lashes out. With Ye Shisan’s back as the center, a three-meter radius of tables and chairs shatters into fragments.

The floor craters, fist-sized holes piercing through to the subfloor.

Then, Ye Shisan slumps, half-kneeling, unconscious.

You Long’er, rubbing her sore backside, climbs from the booth and points outside. “Yi Qing, chase that thug! Don’t let him escape!”

Yi Qing nods and sprints out.

You Long’er tries to follow, but her sprained ankle stops her.

Oddly, the diner’s staff emerges. They lock the doors, draw the curtains. Some clear debris, others mop, some hose the floor. In moments, it’s spotless.

Save for the cratered floor and its holes, it’s as if nothing happened.

You Long’er watches the staff work, baffled—can they not see the blood and flesh strewn about? A girl, younger than her, in a violet qipao with a large black box on her back, approaches.

Her tone is condescending. “Miss You, this isn’t your first time seeing Ye Shisan like this, is it?”