The lecture hall reeked of ozone and suppressed aggression. Zhu Fujin's sweat glands exuded pork fat and arrogance, his bulk creaking the reinforced desk. Lin Hao's infrared vision tracked the bully's carotid pulse—127 bpm, adrenaline saturating every pore. Four Treabytes cataloged thirty-seven hostile pheromones among the students, their jealousy crystallizing like frost on windowpanes.
Professor Qiu Yun's perfume cut through the tension—neroli oil layered over spell residue. Her manicured finger traced the air, leaving ionized trails that smelled of burnt almonds. The demonstration rune materialized—a fractal lattice of ochre light humming at 18.6 kHz.
"Observe the seismic harmonics." Her voice triggered subconscious flinches. "Properly amplified, this tremor pattern could liquefy castle foundations."
Zhu Fujin's snort carried phlegmatic undertones. "Blind mice shouldn't play with earthquakes." His jowls quivered as laughter spread—a viral soundwave of malice that made Little White's claws extend beneath the desk.
Lin Hao's tympanic membranes registered the insult at 92 dB. His adrenal suppression protocols activated, flooding synapses with synthetic calm. Beneath the desk, his claws etched micro-fractures in obsidian flooring—stress relief measured in precise 0.3mm increments.
The classroom door exploded inward. A black-clad enforcer's armor clanked with forensic evidence tags—blood spatter on greaves, gunpowder residue between joint plates. His voice box emitted bureaucratic frost: "Zhu Fujin. Your parents' corpses await identification."
The bully's sweat turned acrid—panic pheromones detectable at 50ppm. His retreating footsteps squelched through puddles of dropped lunches, leaving grease-slicked escape vectors that Four Treabytes mapped for future reference.
Qiu Yun's lesson resumed with glacial precision. "Runic matrices derive from primeval tectonic shifts." Her holographic display projected magma flows across ancient battlefields—each glowing fissure resolving into combat-applicable sigils. "Modern adaptations require..."
Lin Hao's neural interfaces cross-referenced millennia of geological shifts with current tactical needs. Subdermal armor plating vibrated in sympathy as the demonstration rune's resonance matched his bone density. Zhao Ling'er's stolen glances registered as infrared hotspots—89° focus angles indicating professional curiosity laced with 11% personal intrigue.
When practice commenced, thirty-six flawed runes sputtered to life. Qin Yu's attempt resembled drunken calligraphy—azure sparks dying mid-air with the scent of scorched vanity. Zhao Ling'er's precise strokes emitted quartz-like chimes, her matrix achieving 78% structural integrity.
"Your turn." Qiu Yun's challenge carried harmonics that vibrated Lin Hao's dental implants. "Theoretical comprehension requires practical verification."
Lin Hao's claws retracted with hydraulic silence. His fingertip ignited—a stylus of pure psionic energy smelling of lightning-struck granite. The classroom's thermal profile flatlined as he began.
Air molecules crystallized under precise intent. Each stroke carved reality itself—obsidian lines humming with contained cataclysms. The rune took shape: not Qiu Yun's textbook tremor pattern, but a hybridized monstrosity blending fire and earth. Lava flows diagrammed in its negative spaces, seismic frequencies tuned to shatter calcium deposits in enemy bone marrow.
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Completion triggered atmospheric compression—a subsonic thrum that liquefied desk varnish. Students clutched splitting skulls as the hybrid rune pulsed malevolent amber. Qiu Yun's containment wards activated with the sound of shattering crystal, neutralizing the prototype milliseconds before structural failure.
Silence fell heavier than tectonic plates. Lin Hao's claws re-emerged, scraping residual energy from the air like static-charged cobwebs. His voice cut through the ringing ears: "Adequate?"
Qin Yu's date pit hit the floor with comedic timing. Zhao Ling'er's jade hairpin cracked—3.7mm fracture indicating loss of emotional containment. Qiu Yun's perfume glands secreted combat stimulants before conscious control reasserted.
"Interesting... adaptation." The professor's parchment crinkled as she gripped the lectern. "Though perhaps better suited for battlefield applications than academic exercises."
Zhu Fujin's empty desk creaked in the breeze. Lin Hao's retinal display logged seventeen new fear pheromones among previously hostile students. Four Treabytes projected 89% probability of assassination attempts within 72 hours.
As dismissal bells chimed in harmonic minor, the hybrid rune's afterimage lingered—a retinal burn shaped like revolution.
Return to the Imperial Capital
The air tasted of scorched parchment and anticipation. Lin Hao's claws retracted with oiled precision as he dismounted the smoldering fire tiger. Its molten amber eyes reflected the capital's obsidian gates—a monument to power that reeked of iron filings and suppressed rebellion.
Zhu Fujin's mourning robes flapped like vulture wings in the sulfurous breeze. His grief-stricken theatrics released pheromones of rage and pork fat. Lin Hao's olfactory sensors cataloged the stench: 78% pretense, 22% genuine panic.
"Intercept that one!" Zhu's nasal shriek cut through market chatter. Ten thugs fanned out, their steel-capped boots crunching gravel in tactical formation. Lin Hao's infrared vision highlighted weak points—knee joints unprotected, carotid arteries pulsing beneath thin leather armor.
The first attacker lunged with a cudgel smelling of old blood. Lin Hao's temporal lobe calculated trajectories—0.8 seconds until impact. His claws extended with subsonic snick, severing the weapon mid-swing. Splintered wood rained down as the thug's scream harmonized with marketplace flutes.
"Five million taels for your head." Zhu's jowls quivered, sweat beading through rice powder makeup. "Dead or—"
"Alive?" Lin Hao's voice modulator injected liquid nitrogen into the query. His cloak swirled, releasing bergamot and ozone—the signature scent of high-grade assassination contracts.
Chaos erupted as stalls overturned. A persimmon vendor's cart exploded in crimson pulp, painting the cobblestones with fructose viscera. Little White's ultrasonic growl liquefied a thug's bladder mid-charge, the acrid stench of urine blending with roasted chestnut aromas.
Lin Hao's neural HUD flashed combat analytics—72% probability of city guard intervention within 3.2 minutes. He pivoted, claws tracing lethal parabolas through twilight. Each severed tendon released copper-scented mist, each arterial spray created Rorschach patterns on nearby shopfronts.
The fire tiger materialized in thermonuclear brilliance, molten drool etching cracks in flagstones. Its furnace breath ignited Zhu's mourning sash, transforming grief into shrieking combustion.
"Demonspawn!" A surviving thug crossed himself with trembling fingers. "The Hellhound of—"
Lin Hao's boot crushed the man's larynx with ceramic snap. Battlefield economics dictated efficiency—4.3 seconds per neutralization, 87% ammo conservation.
Sirens wailed in Doppler-distorted crescendo. Lin Hao remounted his blazing steed, the creature's pawprints leaving smoldering craters in its wake. His cloak billowed like a funeral shroud as they vanished into sulfurous alleyways, the scent of charred pork lingering as their epitaph.
