Solar System —Outer Asteroid Belt

  “My Liege, Mr. Yan Qing has refused all food and water.”

  The woman’s voice was soft, almost apologetic, as she bowed—her chestnut curls trembling with the movement. Chris barely acknowledged her. The order he’d given—no Fenreigan was to approach Yan Qing without a human face.

  “Right,” he said, his voice stripped of its usual warmth. The brightness he once wore like armor was gone, replaced by a storm-dark mask. He dismissed her with a flick of his hand, then turned, each step toward the rest capsule heavy, as if gravity itself had grown cruel.

  He paused at the door, staring at the metal panel. For a moment, his reflection stared back—drawn, haunted, a stranger. He pressed his palm to the sensor. The door hissed open, spilling cold, sterile light into the corridor.

  Inside, Yan Qing sat hunched on the berth, a shadow among shadows. Chris stopped three meters away, the distance between them suddenly insurmountable. “Yan Qing.” His voice was quiet, careful, as if afraid to shatter what little remained. “You haven’t taken anything in a long time now. This isn’t good for your body. And your leg injury—” His gaze flicked to the dried blood on Yan Qing’s pants, the ugly stain a silent accusation. “It needs treatment.”

  Yan Qing didn’t move. He looked up slowly, his face ashen, eyes ringed with exhaustion and something deeper—something broken. He let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “What I do—is none of your business.” His words were full of venom, bitter and hurtful.

  Chris flinched, but forced himself to keep his voice steady. “No matter what you think, we’ve known each other for years.” He tried to find the old rhythm, the easy camaraderie of their youth. “I worry about you. I may not be human, but we have feelings too.”

  “Feelings?” Yan Qing’s lips curled, voice sharp with contempt. “So it was fun, wasn’t it—playing me?”

  Chris’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He swallowed his anger, but it burned in his chest. “I arranged everything for you for years, and this is what I get? Your hostility?”

  Yan Qing turned away, as if the sight of Chris was unbearable. “Arranged? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Chris’s restraint snapped. He closed the distance in two strides, looming over Yan Qing. “Yes, You don’t know all this.” His voice shook. “So, I am telling you all of it right now. After you came back from Genesis—do you really think your government was that easy to deal with? It was because of me you got out of the administrative building so fast.”

  He hesitated, breath ragged, then pressed on, voice tightening with every word. “For you, I tore things apart with O’Neil. I killed his men for coming close to you. Still not enough?”

  Yan Qing said nothing. The silence between them was suffocating.

  Chris’s voice darkened. The last of his masks slipped. “I even gave your multiverse research results to Dean—the glory-hungry bastard—just to keep my people from noticing you, so you could live a normal life. Isn’t that what you wanted?!”

  Dean. The man who had stolen Yan Qing’s work, who had doomed Genesis with his recklessness. The irony was bitter—if not for that theft, Yan Qing would never have met Chen, never have lost him.

  Now, looking back, Chris felt mocked by fate itself.

  Yan Qing finally turned, his eyes cold and empty as the void between stars. “If you truly saw me as a friend, what kind of friend calculates his ‘friend’ this carefully?”

  Chris’s breath caught. His fists trembled. “Fine. I approached you with a purpose at first. But everything after that was real. To hide you from my people, I pretended to ally with O’Neil, agreed to his engine plan—only to divert attention so you could live steady, do your experiments. Wasn’t that for your sake?!”

  Yan Qing tried to stand, but his wound buckled him. His whole body shook with rage. “And for that you could destroy Earth without hesitation?” His voice broke, raw and wounded. “Chris—he tried to help me stop you. But you killed him. You killed him!”

  The words hung in the air, heavy as grief. Chris could only stand there, hollowed out, as Yan Qing’s accusation echoed in the sterile silence—irreversible, unforgivable.

  Yan Qing refused to cry in front of him; his lips pressed into a hard, trembling line as he turned away, jaw tight, eyes rimmed red with tears he wouldn’t let fall. His shoulders hunched, every muscle rigid with the effort of holding himself together.

  He couldn’t bear to look at Chris—the friend he’d once trusted, the colleague he’d studied and worked beside—because Chen’s death lay between them like a wound that would never close. The betrayal was too raw, too deep; the years of lies had hollowed out whatever was left.

  A flicker of something volatile—anger, grief, something almost feral—flashed across Chris’s face. His brows drew together, mouth twisting as if he were about to spit out something bitter. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, compressed, barely more than a growl. “What’s so good about that Teleopean, that you can’t let him go?”

  “Him?” Yan Qing turned back slowly, his chin lifting, hatred burning in his gaze—sharp enough to cut. His nostrils flared, and his voice was icy, each word deliberate. “At least he didn’t lie to me like you. At least he wasn’t as vile as you.”

  Chris’s eyes widened, a flash of pain and fury mingling in their depths. Suddenly, he lunged—one arm locking around Yan Qing’s waist, the other seizing a fistful of black hair. He yanked Yan Qing’s head back, forcing their eyes to meet, his own gaze wild and desperate, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek.

  “Vile?” Chris’s eyes—glassy, inhuman—narrowed to dangerous slits, a flicker of something unhinged glinting in their depths. His lips curled, voice dropping to a low, venomous murmur. “Then listen. Compared to him, I’m practically honest. Teleopeans aren’t even part of the Interstellar Alliance. But your Chen—just to obtain the technology to open multi-dimensional space—volunteered to help the Alliance destroy my planet as an exchange. He slaughtered 8.9 billion people. Infants included. Tell me—was he not vile?”

  Yan Qing’s scalp burned where Chris’s fist gripped his hair, but he refused to beg. He glared up, rage twisting his features, his breath coming in short, furious bursts. The words he spat back were raw, torn from somewhere deep and wounded: “You deserved it.”

  Chris’s brows shot up, a tremor passing through his jaw—like he’d just heard something inside himself snap. “We deserved it?” His voice cracked, teetering on the edge of madness. Then, with a sound that was almost a laugh—too sharp, too cold—he bared his teeth. It was nothing like the easy, sunny smile he’d worn for years; this was something feral, something that made Yan Qing’s skin crawl.

  “Then maybe you being fooled by me counts as you ‘deserving it,’ too.” Chris leaned in, his breath hot against Yan Qing’s ear, the words almost gentle—almost. But the chill in them was absolute.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Run.

  Instinct screamed through Yan Qing’s body. Trapped in Chris’s iron grip, he thrashed, panic and fury surging together, but it was useless—he couldn’t break free.

  “Bastard! Let go—ah!”

  Ignoring the resistance, Chris dragged him to the bed and threw him down hard into the soft mattress.

  The sudden force sent Yan Qing reeling, the world spinning around him in a dizzy blur. Disoriented and weak, he found himself sprawled face-down, unable to steady his senses as he struggled to regain control over his body.

  Black hair spilled across white sheets in delicate curves. His face, flushed from fighting, took on a faint pink heat.

  Chris had dreamed of this—of Yan Qing’s stern face breaking into vulnerability—but seeing it in reality hit like a shockwave, desire flaring instantly.

  The anger—

  began to dissolve into something raw.

  Yan Qing tried to push up, but the pain, and the dehydration, made his vision swim. He stared at the approaching man, instinctively backing away— but Chris was faster. He grabbed Yan Qing’s right leg and yanked it hard toward himself.

  “Ugh—!”

  Yan Qing’s fists—raised to strike—were pinned overhead by a powerful hand. His legs were pinned too, pressed down by Chris’s body.

  Chris relied entirely on his imposing stature and brute strength, effectively trapping Yan Qing beneath him as if he were prey. The weight and force of Chris’s body rendered Yan Qing helpless, unable to escape or fight back. Every attempt Yan Qing made to resist only emphasised the disparity in their power; Chris’s grip and presence left no room for movement, holding him firmly in place and ensuring he could not break free.

  “Let go—let—mm!”

  A hot, unfamiliar breath washed over Yan Qing’s face, making him tense. His eyes widened as Chris’s face loomed above him, so close that every detail was magnified in his vision. For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow—the intensity of Chris’s gaze, the heat radiating between them, the anticipation thick in the air.

  Then, without warning, Chris pressed his mouth down onto Yan Qing’s, the force of the kiss unyielding. He didn’t hesitate or ask permission, instead taking what he wanted, mouth fierce and demanding. Chris’s tongue pushed insistently against Yan Qing’s lips, prying past the last vestiges of resistance, claiming every inch as his own. The kiss was not gentle; it was all-consuming, overwhelming Yan Qing and leaving no room for retreat.

  Yan Qing’s silent protest echoed in his mind—No—yet before he could act, Chris anticipated his intention. Yan Qing braced himself to bite down, but Chris was already there, his hand clamping firmly around Yan Qing’s jaw. The force prevented Yan Qing from closing his teeth, leaving him defenceless and unable to resist.

  Chris’s warm, slick tongue moved with skill and relentless determination. It coiled around Yan Qing’s tongue, dominating the space and leaving no opportunity for escape or refusal. Each movement forced entanglement, demanding compliance, and stripping Yan Qing of any remaining control.

  “Mmh—!”

  Yan Qing struggled until his limbs shook, but all he achieved was exhaustion. The near-violent kiss left him suffocating.

  His mind turned to static.

  Chris slid between Yan Qing’s legs, forcing him open.

  Yan Qing struggled fiercely, his entire body trembling from the effort, but his resistance only led to mounting exhaustion. The intensity of Chris’s kiss had left him breathless, air stolen from his lungs, until he felt as though he were drowning.

  Yan Qing’s thoughts dissolved into a numbing haze, making it impossible to focus on anything except Chris’s overwhelming presence. He felt powerless, swept away by the intensity.

  When Chris broke the kiss, Yan Qing gasped for air, but the threat lingered. He remained unsettled, unable to regain control or escape the suffocating closeness.

  Yan Qing cried out in pain as a sharp, stabbing sensation struck his collarbone. The unexpected agony forced a desperate cry from his lips, echoing through the tense silence.

  Chris’s teeth—inhumanly sharp—sank deep into Yan Qing’s skin, penetrating enough to draw blood. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, causing Yan Qing’s eyes to fill with tears.

  After a moment, Chris lifted his head, clearly satisfied with his actions. He licked a streak of red from his own lips, savouring the taste as Yan Qing remained stunned by the violation and pain.

  “Chris—I will never forgive you.” The words trembled out of Yan Qing’s lips, swollen from the force of Chris’s kiss. Despite the pain and humiliation, a fierce disgust burned in Yan Qing’s dark eyes, refusing to be snuffed out.

  Yet, Chris’s gaze lingered on Yan Qing’s tear-filled eyes, interpreting the shimmer of emotion as a different kind of invitation. To Chris, those water-bright pupils—clouded with tears—became a new source of temptation, igniting something cold and possessive within him.

  A brutal urge surged: to grind Yan Qing down until he cried.

  Fenreigans were notorious for being overtaken by a kind of savage hunger when driven by lust, and Chris was no different. Even now, that wildness surfaced in him, impossible to hide.

  A cold, predatory smirk twisted Chris’s mouth, an unnatural expression that sent a chill through the tense air. In his eyes, a flicker of bloodlight burned—strange and haunting—hinting at the inhuman depths lurking beneath his composed exterior.

  Chris’s voice was icy: “I don’t care.” His indifference sliced through Yan Qing’s pain, the cruelty unmistakable.

  Fabric gave way beneath Chris’s hands, leaving Yan Qing’s pale skin exposed to the cold air. His complexion, rarely touched by sunlight due to his work, appeared almost translucent in the harsh chill. The sudden exposure heightened Yan Qing’s sense of vulnerability, amplifying his humiliation and pain like a magnifying glass.

  Yan Qing squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to escape—a world gone mad hammering at him with grief and fury. Chen’s death cut him like glass, jagged and merciless. Rage blazed inside him, betrayal scorching his veins, each memory a fresh stab. The pain was brutal, raw, threatening to rip him apart.

  Grief and anger collided, twisting into a blade that carved through his mind. He shook, caught in a tempest of loss and wrath, teetering between collapse and eruption.

  When he opened his eyes, darkness exploded into blue glare—a surge of power born from agony and rage, unstoppable, merciless.

  At the same time, the hidden blue tattoos surged up from under his skin, spreading across his body in an instant.

  The air in the room snapped into violent motion, as if some unseen force had grabbed it—whipping it into a furious storm.

  “Damn it!”

  The shock struck Chris with all the force of icy water, immediately jolting him back to his senses. In that instant, the reason for his presence surged back into his mind with painful clarity. He had lost sight of his purpose amidst the chaos, but now it was impossible to ignore.

  Yan Qing had completely merged with the Ultimate Weapon—a reality that now loomed, dangerous and uncontained. More troubling still, Yan Qing remained oblivious to the extent of his own power or the means to rein it in. Any surge of emotion, uncontrolled and violent, had the potential to unleash destruction beyond measure.

  Chris ripped a pair of bracelet-like devices from his subspace pouch. He clasped them onto Yan Qing’s wrists. The red circuitry etched into the cuffs flared the moment it touched skin—then the cuffs contracted, locking tight around the wrists.

  Yan Qing’s eyes snapped back to normal. The tattoos vanished, erased as if they’d never been there at all.

  A strangled, soundless groan tore from his throat. Pain exploded from his wrists, ripping through his body like fire. His head split open with agony; his vision tunneled, the world going dark at the edges. His chest seized, as if a fist had slammed into him—crushing, suffocating.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  “Yan Qing!” Chris’s voice cut through the haze, frantic. He caught Yan Qing as he sagged, hauling him upright, trying to ease the pressure on his lungs.

  Yan Qing’s face blanched, turning a sickly blue-white. His mouth opened, desperate for air—

  But nothing came.

  His body simply couldn’t withstand the force of that power, not with the cuffs forcing it back down. The backlash was too much, more than any human could bear.

  The darkness rushed in, swallowing him whole. Yan Qing’s consciousness slipped away, the world receding.

  Chris’s panic broke through, sharp and raw. He shouted, voice cracking, “Someone! Now!”

  The automatic door snapped open. The woman from before rushed in, eyes wide.

  “My Liege —what is it?!”

  “Call the medics!” Chris barked, his grip still tight on Yan Qing, as if he could anchor him to the world by sheer will.