A violent, continuous fit of coughing erupted. The pinch of powder Fang Senyan had scattered was none other than common black pepper he had pilfered from a supermarket shelf. One famous staple of the American diet is the Black Pepper Steak. Statistics show that the entire US consumes over ten metric tons of ground black pepper daily. While these spicy, irritating granules are delicious sprinkled over a greasy steak, once they enter the eyes and nose, they cause uncontrollable tearing and running, making it impossible to see anything for a time!

These three FBI agents, caught unawares by Fang Senyan’s trick, were choking and weeping profusely, their hearts filled with sheer rage. One of them still managed to forcibly wipe his eyes while attempting to aim. But Fang Senyan had already made his preparations. The dark trench coat draped on his body billowed out like the giant wings of a bat. With a swift pivot, he drew the Italian PA15IL combat shotgun from behind him and savagely pulled the trigger!

Fang Senyan’s marksmanship had always been notoriously poor, which is why he rarely engaged in gunfights. But under the current circumstances, that shotgun instantly became a terrifying instrument of death! The blackened muzzle was almost pressed against the nearest FBI agent before it violently spat fire. Hundreds of kinetic iron fragments and steel pellets hammered viciously into the man's body amidst the dissipating smoke. The pellets tore effortlessly through his outer clothing. Although the body armor underneath offered some protection, the sheer impact force delivered at such close range was no less severe than the internal injuries inflicted by a full-force blow from a club.

The hit FBI agent staggered backward, his vision blurring, utterly miserable. But he was, after all, an elite operative subjected to extraordinarily rigorous training. Just as he was attempting to use the momentum of the impact to roll and escape toward the nearby counter, he failed to realize Fang Senyan had anticipated his move. Fang Senyan stepped forward, aimed the still-smoking, blackened muzzle directly at the agent’s head, and coldly squeezed the trigger again!

Two consecutive "BOOM" sounds echoed. Amidst the swirling smoke, the FBI agent was thrown backward into the air, his face and head shredded by the scattering buckshot, exposing a gruesome, bloody mess—truly beaten beyond recognition. Blood immediately pooled beneath him, gurgling onto the floor, his survival status unknown.

Fang Senyan inwardly cursed his bad luck. This elite FBI agent possessed remarkably tenacious resilience; he had managed to raise his arm just in time to shield his head, narrowly evading this fatal shot and preventing Fang Senyan from achieving the kill. The upside, however, was that the agent was certainly neutralized, incapable of posing any threat to Fang Senyan in the short term.

At this moment, intense, continuous stabbing pains erupted across Fang Senyan’s back, feeling as if red-hot knives were being plunged into his body repeatedly. Several bullets whizzed past his ears—the other two FBI agents had clearly recovered their senses and were madly firing at him. If not for the fact that the two agents’ vision was still impaired by the pepper, Fang Senyan's head would undoubtedly have been their primary target. Even so, his vitality levels were plummeting at a terrifying rate, dropping below the danger threshold of 20%.

Fang Senyan forcibly suppressed the tempting urge to put another round into the heavily wounded agent. Head down, he gracefully vaulted over the nearby cash register, then rolled across the floor to disappear into the adjacent corridor. The bullets that followed smashed into the wall, sending plaster dust flying, but they were merely aftershocks. Only the intermittent trails of blood flowing down the floor attested that the preceding barrage had not been entirely in vain.

Faced with the ensuing wreckage—a scene of chaos—the two red-eyed, tear-streaked FBI agents exchanged bewildered glances. Both the US military and the FBI adhered to a strict principle of never abandoning their own. If a comrade was severely wounded or killed, personnel had to remain to care for the scene. But only two agents retained combat capability. If one of them stayed behind to guard the fallen, the remaining agent would have to pursue the ferociously fierce assailant alone... a prospect likely leading to grave danger. Yet, letting the culprit escape scot-free would make them the utter disgrace of the FBI!

As they hesitated between retreat and pursuit, an enraged voice bellowed from behind them:

“What are you waiting for?!”

Striding toward them was the leader of this Special Operations squad: Novan. His gaze swept over his two disheveled subordinates, then landed on the bloody, unconscious body of James nearby. A complex emotion crossed his eyes, but his tone was decisive:

“You two immediately pursue and keep up with him! Remember, just track his direction; I… I will call for backup.”

“WHAT?!” Both elite FBI agents shouted in unison. They weren't afraid of chasing Fang Senyan; rather, they were shocked by their leader's decision to request reinforcements.

Novan slowly shook his head. “If I call headquarters for support now, at worst, our small team becomes the disgrace of the entire Alliance Investigation Bureau. But if we wait until the situation spirals out of control before requesting aid, the FBI will become the laughingstock of all America! Our personal honor cannot supersede the honor of the entire Bureau.”

Hearing Novan’s words, the two FBI elite agents fell silent. Novan then pulled a brick-like communication device from his pocket and began dialing…

Fang Senyan was running at full stride, utterly devoid of the mindset of being prey. If he hadn't clearly known that the enemy possessed trackers capable of sensing his approximate location at any moment, he would have stopped to set up an ambush for the pursuers.

In truth, his condition was far from ideal. Blood was continuously seeping from the numerous wounds on his back, and sweat stung the lacerations like acid, causing them to contract in spasms of pain. An ordinary person would have lost the will to fight long ago, crying out in agony. But Fang Senyan’s eyes seemed to burn, intense and focused, savage and formidable. It was as if the injuries were a catalyst for his life, and the pain, the rising sun of his fighting spirit!

“Warning, warning, the leader of the pursuing FBI small unit has requested headquarters support.”

“Warning, warning, the leader of the pursuing FBI small unit has requested headquarters support.”

“Warning: FBI Headquarters official, Jerris Sardine, will join the pursuit. He will arrive in ten minutes.”

Seeing this series of notifications, Fang Senyan’s pupils instantly constricted! The gruesome fate of the other Contractor, riddled with bullet holes by the suddenly appearing Delta Force, was deeply etched in his mind. He had always worried about this very possibility: that these FBI agents might call for reinforcements to join the capture.

“Ten minutes. Fortunately, there are ten minutes as a buffer!” A thought of relief crossed Fang Senyan’s mind.

Bravery does not equate to recklessness; adventure does not mean suicide. Fang Senyan had absolutely no intention of engaging with the impending FBI headquarters official, Jerris Sardine. He had every reason to believe the man would possess an overwhelming advantage. If Fang Senyan had the marksmanship and the warped talent of "Folding" possessed by that dead man Quest, he might have a sliver of a chance. Unfortunately, his effective shooting range was limited to within five meters, and it had to be a shotgun…

Watching the countdown timer displayed by the Nightmare Mark, Fang Senyan began to silently recite the numbers in his head:

“Ten, nine, eight, seven… three, two, one!”

At that exact moment, a crisp sound emanated from the satchel he was carrying. It was like the brittle sound of ice cracking under sunlight. Retrieving the bag, he saw that the transparent box inside was now covered in fine fractures, emitting an unpleasant odor.

And beneath the murky surface, the gleam of a deadly weapon was already apparent!

Fang Senyan found a corner, sank down against the hard wall, and leaned his head back. A cold smirk touched his lips as he idly licked the trace of dried blood from the corner of his mouth, silently thinking:

“I wish to claim the main mission reward: Clearing the Time-Space Node.”

“Notification: You have three hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-seven seconds remaining until the final deadline to leave this world. If you claim this mission reward, you will depart within five minutes. Do you wish to claim the main mission reward for Clearing the Time-Space Node? Yes/No.”

Fang Senyan chose "Yes" without hesitation.

“You have gained 200 Universal Points.”

“You have gained 1 Merit Point.”

“Your current cumulative Merit Points: 1.”

“The higher your Merit Points, the greater your authority within the Space, and the more access you will have to discounted services.”

“You have completed your first mission in the Nightmare World. Your Nightmare Mark Storage Ability is now unlocked.”

“This is truly an incredible world…” Fang Senyan smiled wearily, lighting a blood-stained cigarette. He took a deep drag and leaned back against the wall, completely relaxed. His slightly unfocused gaze drifted past the towering skyscrapers toward the setting sun on the horizon, finding peace in the architecture of Los Angeles, beneath the sky of the 1980s, bathed in that sunshine which, though scorching, carried a hint of warmth…

Then, his figure gradually faded, finally vanishing into the air. Just ten minutes later, the FBI reinforcements swarmed the location, surrounding it tightly. But all they found was a pool of still-wet blood and a tattered, ruined black trench coat.

....................

Uh, I realize many readers will have questions after finishing this chapter.

But I will not offer explanations.

I have only one response: Please keep reading.

When writing Ace, I started drafting after only two hours of conceptualization. When writing The Finale, I spent eighteen months in preparation.

As a writer, I demand change. As a writer responsible to my readers, I demand change even more strongly. If The Finale reads exactly like Ace, where is the fun? How much excitement or unexpected surprise will you still feel?

The path of a writer also lies in seeking change and striving for refinement. It is like rowing upstream; if you do not advance, you fall back. To remain static or regress is what should truly be satirized—not evolution.

I can guarantee you this: The current aspects that seem illogical or unreasonable will all be resolved with answers that satisfy you, lead to sudden realization, or prompt an ‘Ah, so that’s how it is’ response.

The timeline for these explanations is: before the book is officially put on sale, before you pay for the chapters.

Well, there will be no update today, as I need to consider the word count requirements for the new book charts. So please cast any extra votes toward me. I promise to deliver an even more brilliant story to you!

(To be continued, please visit to read the latest chapters.)