The next day, in the heart of Town City's East District.
Below a hundred-floor skyscraper, a fashionably dressed youth in a white-and-blue T-shirt and headphones sized up the place.
"Whoa, so this is Nanwu Country's Xuan Vision Station? Scary-luxurious—even a country bumpkin like me is shook." After a while he struck an exaggerated pose.
Behind him stood four other men and women in varied outfits. A rough-faced, cigarette-toting woman with a scar across her face spoke: "We start here. Find targets—five Monsters each. We'll drop twenty-five in total."
Beside them, a gaunt middle-aged man cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming. "Ten-thousand-point mission—two thousand each. Skip the Association broker and one point sells for twelve grand. That's twenty-four million blue star coins!"
Before joining the Monster Association he'd been a wage-slave—four thousand a month, twelve-hour shifts, one day off.
It kept just him alive; wife, kids, a flat were pipe dreams. Now one job meant tens of millions.
"Two thousand points is fat, but the risk's real—this is Xuanjian Division HQ, guarded by Level Six Awakened Ones," the scarred woman warned.
The trendy youth grinned like a maniac. "I came for the thrill. With illusion crystals backing us—move out. Life or death, fortune favors the bold!"
He spun around and melted into the crowd to pick his targets.
Beyond this tower, Monster Association agents appeared outside every major news or net-company building across Nanwu Country.
Rewards scaled with local risk: top-tier like Town City paid ten thousand points.
Low-risk zones still netted one or two hundred—one or two million blue star coins.
On the seventeenth floor of Town City News Tower, two anchors prepared for the eight-a.m. bulletin.
The male host smiled at his script: "Another Jiang Yan headline? Celebrities can only dream of such daily fame."
His co-host's face twisted in disgust. "The Monster Association should be wiped out. If they weren't so well hidden, our Xuanjian Division would've erased them long ago."
"Ready, you two? One minute to live feed," a middle-aged director called.
"We're ready." In a second their faces turned grave.
"Good—roll!" At his shout the broadcast began.
Several cameras focused on them.
Beep!
The cue sounded; they beamed at the lenses. "Good morning, viewers. Welcome to the eight-o'clock bulletin. I'm Wan Ang Ran."
"And I'm Ding Jing Han."
Wan Ang Ran grew serious. "As of five a.m. today, Monster surges have been reported worldwide. Our Nanwu Country—"
"Who are you? This is a live—" A commotion outside cut him off, loud enough for the studio to hear.
Bang!
Before anyone reacted, the door flew inward; a guard crashed in, chest caved, blood spurting.
"Hahaha—screw you slander-monkeys!" A roar filled the room as cameras swung toward the entrance.
There, a swaggering youth in trendy clothes sauntered in, throttling a middle-aged man by the neck.
Behind him followed the scar-faced woman.
Crack—he snapped the man's neck like twigs.
"Aaaah!" Ding Jing Han shrieked, leaping from her chair.
Wan Ang Ran paled in terror.
Rrrrip! The woman's clothes tore as she morphed into a two-metre Red Mantis-like Monster.
"Stay still. Keep broadcasting—one wrong move and you die." She loomed over the cameraman, murder in her eyes.
He trembled so hard his knees knocked. The Monsters he reported on nightly now stood before him—two metres of menace.
He bobbed his head like a chicken. "D-don't kill me, I'll do it."
"Help! Help!" Ding Jing Han kept screaming; a pale-yellow stream trickled down her pink skirt.
A blur flashed—half her head sheared clean off.
Thud—her corpse slumped across the desk, live on air.
"Agh!" Wan Ang Ran yelped, about to bolt.
Another flick—his head flew, the feed still rolling.
Throughout the tower, mindless Monsters rampaged; screams echoed floor after floor.
The blur returned, settling into a Bone Throwing-Knife that spun in the youth's fingers.
Grinning, he kicked the anchors' table aside and leaned toward the camera.
"Hear me, Xuanjian Division—and all Nanwu Country! Name's Gao Qian. Only the Monster Association is supreme. Slander our president? This is what you get."
His smirk turned sickly. "Heh-heh-heh… if any media trash President Jiang Yan again, I'll wipe out your staff—and every relative you've got. A god like the president isn't for common worms to insult."
The Red Mantis watched, envy plain on her chitin. Praising the president on national TV? Extra rewards awaited back at base.
With a glance from Gao Qian—boom—she crashed through the studio window and sailed outward.
He leapt after, caught her ankle, and the pair soared away.
Left alone, the cameraman slumped in relief. "Thank heavens they spared—"
"Grrr!" A guttural snarl cut him off.
Through the doorway stalked a green, leaf-covered creature, its head a Venus-flytrap maw.