Venerable Phap Vien's breathing deepened to the rumble of an ancient temple bell. His eyes darkened to violet and began glowing in the dim laboratory. He studied Duong Minh's newly reconstructed body the way a predator might study prey.
Inside Phap Vien's mind, two consciousnesses warred.
"No... I cannot... I am a monk..."
His own voice surfaced weakly.
"Kill him. He defies the cycle of reincarnation. He must not live."
Another voice—ancient, cold—crushed the first without effort.
Phap Vien tried to control his hands, but they no longer obeyed.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered, the last trace of himself present. "I'm sorry..."
Then his eyes turned fully violet.
No one had time to react. The air compressed like the calm before a storm.
Then he vanished.
Not truly vanished—his speed simply exceeded human perception. A sharp crack split the air as if space itself had torn. Cold exploded outward in a spiraling gust.
"GET BACK!" Anika shouted.
Too late. The monk's steel-hard arm materialized before Duong Minh like a descending blade.
"Hold steady! Accelerating your processing!"
Lyra transmitted directly into Duong Minh's neural interface. A faint blue current flashed across his vision. The world slowed—or rather, he accelerated.
His reconstructed body remained weak, but Lyra widened his neural pathways. His reflexes surpassed those of an ordinary human.
Duong Minh arched backward at the precise instant the steel-hard hand sliced through the air.
The metal floor split beneath the strike's shockwave.
Giang moved first. He yanked open a large steel crate beside him. Inside lay a hunting shotgun—an emergency weapon for the expedition. He loaded it in one motion and aimed at Phap Vien.
"MOVE!"
Duong Minh rolled aside. Giang pulled the trigger.
The blast struck Phap Vien square in the chest. He didn't fall—just staggered back several steps. His robe tore open, revealing skin that had turned glossy black, flesh hardened like metal beneath. He tensed and muscles swelled beneath the dark cloth.
He countered with dark martial technique. He lunged forward, both arms hammering down like twin sledgehammers.
Duong Minh's mind tracked the motion, but his body lagged. He dodged, yet his unfamiliar flesh betrayed him. Phap Vien's grip still caught him and flung him across a stainless steel table. Metal cracked with a violent ring.
Duong Minh forced himself upright and answered with a hook punch—pure instinct—driving it into his opponent's ribs.
Phap Vien roared. The sound was inhuman. He seized Duong Minh by the collar and dragged him close. Their faces nearly touched. His breath smelled of burning incense.
His elbow drove downward—spiritual force fused with physical strength—aimed to crush Duong Minh's chest.
In that instant Quoc Trung rushed forward. He had nothing but a heavy steel pipe, a tool used for dismantling machinery. He swung hard against Phap Vien's hand. The impact broke the grip just enough for Duong Minh to slip free.
The opening lasted only a second.
Duong Minh staggered back, sweat soaking his spine. He met Quoc Trung's eyes in silent gratitude.
They regrouped—Duong Minh, Quoc Trung, Giang, Venkatesh, and Anika standing together. Each grabbed whatever object lay nearby as a makeshift weapon.
"He's contaminated with demonic energy. What do we do?" Duong Minh gasped.
"Find a way to run," Quoc Trung said quickly.
Duong Minh drew a slow breath to steady himself. In his mind: "Lyra, upload a close-combat system into my neural layer."
"Processing. Upload completes in five seconds."
Phap Vien roared again. In a blink he materialized among them. His hand turned edgewise and came down in a diagonal slash, carrying the force of a great saber.
Duong Minh raised his arm on instinct. Pain exploded through bone. Lyra forced a neural adjustment, shifting his center of gravity to deflect the strike.
"Synchronization complete. Shift weight. Strike low."
Duong Minh dropped his stance, pivoted, and drove his heel into Phap Vien's left knee—the precise angle from the simulation.
CRACK!
The kick landed. The force twisted directly into the biological weak point—enough to unbalance any ordinary man.
Phap Vien was not ordinary.
His knee bent inward slightly. Bone cracked with a dull metallic sound, like steel bending. Then it stopped. He didn't fall. He didn't retreat.
He smiled.
That smile sent ice down Duong Minh's spine.
His hand shot toward Duong Minh's throat so fast the air shrieked.
"MOVE NOW!" Lyra cried in his mind.
Duong Minh turned his head—half a beat too slow. Five fingers grazed his neck, tearing flesh, leaving five lines of hot blood. Pain didn't burst—it spread like white-hot metal pressed to skin.
Giang lunged from the side. The shotgun empty, he swung the stock into Phap Vien's face with all his strength. The blow was precise and powerful enough to drop a grown bear.
CRACK!
The wooden stock shattered.
Phap Vien's head tilted half an inch.
He pivoted immediately, sweeping low with a scythe-like kick. Giang was flung across the room, his back striking the steel wall. Blood sprayed from his mouth. He slid down and didn't rise.
"Giang!" Anika cried, but didn't dare step forward.
The space around Phap Vien began to warp.
Wind rose inside the sealed laboratory—not natural wind, but spirals of compressed air carrying metal dust, glass shards, the scent of incense and something sharp and metallic.
"He's no longer himself," Venkatesh rasped. "Something else is taking over."
And when those words were spoken, Duong Minh understood.
What stood before them was no longer merely a monk.
It was a vessel for something far darker.