Having dispatched the Special Forces operative, Fang Senyan’s Sin level spiked dramatically. The victim yielded only a single accessory: a dog tag hanging from his neck displaying the unauthenticated status, much to Fang Senyan’s disappointment. Notably, the progress for the "Friend of Sin" title immediately activated, showing 5/50—killing a Delta Force member apparently counted for the equivalent of five ordinary police officers!

He then conducted a cursory search of the entire train car. He didn't find any of the big, black, high-powered firearms he was looking for, though he did locate several standard police pistols and over a hundred rounds of ammunition. Fang Senyan gathered these weapons and bullets, stuffing them into a large duffel bag he had picked up, and quickly disembarked.

The gunfire in the distance grew more frantic, like a fierce argument between Death and God. In a short span, Fang Senyan watched at least two ambulances, packed with the wounded, speed away; clearly, the LAPD was getting no advantage in their confrontation with the Terminators.

Yet, Fang Senyan didn't head toward the densest area of the shooting. Instead, he carefully surveyed his surroundings, pulled up a ready-made mask, and lifted the manhole cover beside him. An indescribable stench washed over him. Fang Senyan wrinkled his brow slightly but wasted no time climbing down.

The sewer was dimly lit, filthy, with fetid black water flowing in the channels, occasionally releasing thick plumes of smoke. Squinting, Fang Senyan oriented himself and walked a distance before finding a small, dark shed used by maintenance workers for their tools. He slipped inside, sat down on the ground despite the grime, and remained perfectly still.

What was he doing?

Time crept by, minute by minute, while Fang Senyan sat collapsed on the floor as if in deep meditation. His breathing stretched out, becoming incredibly slow, yet even and forceful. Each breath felt like a punch: steady, ruthless, and precise. In this dark, filthy, airtight environment, Fang Senyan felt his heart settle like a leaf sinking into water—calm, prolonged, accompanied by a tranquil darkness. Now he could hear the faint swimming of mosquito larvae in the sewage channel outside, the buzzing of flies, and the sound of water droplets splitting upon impact with the ground before slowly seeping into the damp earth... and then, a vibration.

A clear, rhythmic vibration.

Fang Senyan opened his eyes, pulling himself out of that strange state. His physical strength, mental fortitude, and willpower had reached their absolute peak. Even the graze wound from the Special Forces operative’s bullet had stopped bleeding, scabbed over, and shed its crust, leaving his skin completely intact. While he hadn't achieved true omniscience of his surroundings, Fang Senyan could clearly sense:

"It’s coming."

Yes, with Fang Senyan's elaborate setup, how could the Terminator T-750, that precision machine from the future, not come? For a Terminator whose very existence was defined by slaughter, anything that aided in killing was its sustenance, its obsession, its currency!

In this residential zone, this Terminator, specialized in ranged attacks, could use its built-in light weapon sensor to locate firearms within a two-hundred-meter radius. However, these weapons were scattered across the vast residential area, making collection and utilization inconvenient. Thus, the Terminator needed to constantly shift position to acquire sufficient ammunition. At this moment, however, five or six police handguns and hundreds of bullets suddenly appeared stacked together on its detector! The Terminator would inevitably rush over with maximum speed and the most direct route.

Like a wolf catching the scent of ewes, Like a fish spotting bait...

A cold, cruel smile touched the corner of Fang Senyan’s mouth. He sighed. In the instant of that exhale, the iron door of the sewer storage shed was kicked inward. Amidst a swirl of dirt, the twisted, rusted door spun violently, slamming against the rear wall with a loud bang, rebounding, and clattering to the floor.

The T-750 appeared in the doorway. In the dim light, it looked utterly ragged: most of its synthetic skin had been blown off, fragments clinging to its frame, exposing the human-like alloy steel skeleton beneath. The artificial eyeball in its left socket had been shot out, its artificial fluid entirely drained, leaving it dangling loosely. Its right socket was a dark abyss, from which a terrifying red light emanated from the electronic eye, creating an instantly chilling illusion.

Fang Senyan fixed his gaze on the metal skeleton’s surface and indeed saw a subtle, easily overlooked grey film—this must be the point-to-point "Defender" artificial skin, which was the nightmare of all close-combat fighters, at least in this world. The T-750’s gait was noticeably uneven; the synthetic skin around its left knee joint was completely scorched, revealing a large, clear wound. This had to be damage sustained from the temporal tunnel, the very reason it possessed only 70% of its strength upon entering the world!

The T-750 looked over as well, but its focus was fixed on the duffel bag beside Fang Senyan. The cold red electronic eye flickered. It raised its metallic wrist slightly, and the firearm in its hand spat blinding muzzle flashes. Three searing projectiles struck Fang Senyan’s brow, throat, and heart almost simultaneously, followed by the piercing sound of gunfire echoing in the confined, filthy space.

Then, it stepped forward, bent down, and its steel fingers deftly hooked the strap of the bag, hoisting it onto its shoulder. It then reached toward Fang Senyan’s waist—toward the location of the .500 caliber handgun. Based on the database and logic it had established, as long as the bullets successfully struck the upright primate directly on the forehead, throat, or heart, the creature would inevitably lose all power to resist. The survival rate after three hits was less than 99%.

Therefore, it was completely unguarded.

It was at this moment Fang Senyan erupted, a low, beast-like growl rumbling from his throat, and he launched a punch!

A distinct outline of a steel exoskeleton materialized around Fang Senyan’s fist, giving it a grotesquely oversized appearance, along with an irresistible sense of crushing force! Sparks flew! With a screeching sound of metal striking metal, the punch landed accurately on the T-750’s knee wound. The immense force caused the Terminator to stagger backward, slamming into the dirty grey wall behind it, sending a whump that kicked up a large cloud of dust!

Sparks of electricity sputtered from the T-750’s left knee joint. It felt no pain, nor the terror, panic, or frustration of being ambushed. Instead, it immediately raised its gun! Fire!

Crack-crack-crack! Gunshots echoed again in the small space. Hot bullets tore through the dust-filled air, heading for Fang Senyan’s eyes, but in an instant, a hand intercepted them and closed around them!

Fang Senyan had not yet reached the monstrous level of tracking bullets with his naked eye and physically catching them—that required Agility scores of thirty, maybe even fifty. But he could anticipate the metal monster’s next move and execute a preemptive defense! As the Terminator pulled the trigger, Fang Senyan had already thrust his right hand up to shield his eyes!

Blood seeped between his fingers. The T-750 was using a high-power 9mm Browning pistol, manufactured in Belgium, slightly more powerful than the standard-issue sidearm of the LAPD. It managed to pierce the skin of Fang Senyan’s palm but stalled against the hardness of his finger bones, unable to advance further. The steel projectiles, warped by the massive impact, stopped within the flesh and were then squeezed out by his powerful musculature.

“The magazine is empty.”

A cold, cruel smile curved Fang Senyan’s lips. He released his hand; three bloody, deformed projectiles dropped onto the thick layer of dust below. His leg muscles tightened, coiled, and pushed off the ground! As he leaped forward, Fang Senyan’s left fist swept out, the massive steel exoskeleton materializing upon it, smashing heavily toward the Terminator’s right hand!

With a heavy boom, distinct cracks appeared on the wall of the dilapidated shed, and the entire sewer system shuddered. But Fang Senyan wasn't attacking the T-750’s hand; he was attacking the pistol it held. Under the violent impact of the impossibly hard cobalt-steel exoskeleton, the Browning’s metal frame rapidly deformed, twisted, cracked, and finally collapsed into a pancake of metal.

A handgun like that was utterly useless—except perhaps for smashing someone over the head. By this point, all of Fang Senyan’s strategic objectives had been met: disabling its movement via the damaged knee, and destroying its means of attack by ruining its weapon. The distance between them was now close enough to touch!

Despite this disadvantageous position, the T-750 executed the most accurate counterattack according to its programming—it used its struck right hand to shield its chest while its left hand tore open the stolen duffel bag with a whoosh, preparing to retrieve a police firearm for retaliation. Fang Senyan ignored this, slamming another punch into the T-750’s left knee joint.

Electric light flashed blindingly once more! Fang Senyan pushed off his feet, kicking the Terminator so that it lifted off the ground, its back slamming heavily against the wall again. The old wall finally gave way with a crash, and the T-750, momentum unchecked, tumbled into the adjacent sewage channel. The severely damaged metal left leg hit the water, instantly emitting a loud crackling sound. Foul steam rose incessantly, blue-white electrical arcs swirling wildly around it before slowly extinguishing.

(To be continued, please visit for the latest chapters: .)

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