CHAPTER 235: CHAPTER 235 - SHE’S ALIVE

The path behind the mansion twisted into overgrowth, the kind not usually allowed to exist within the Wang estate’s curated image. There, nestled behind layers of untamed ivy and rusted iron fencing, sat an old building with a slanted roof and moss-covered walls. The structure sagged like it had given up centuries ago, and yet somehow it still stood—an outlier on a property built with precision.

"That’s it," Li Wang said, voice tight, as they crouched in the brush overlooking the rear quadrant. "The old chapel. No one goes there anymore. Not even the staff. It’s not part of the compound’s official map."

"Perfect," Varon muttered, eyes scanning the perimeter. "That’s where the bastard would hide his filth."

Security sensors dotted the eaves and rooftop. Small mounted turrets, sleek and vicious, tracked in lazy circles—motion-sensitive, heat-calibrated. Lethal.

"Give me sixty seconds," Varon said, already unfolding a flat device from his side pouch.

He tapped a sequence into the square node. Blue filaments rippled out from its surface like digital ink bleeding into the air, searching for signal frequencies. One by one, they latched onto the surveillance feeds.

"Overriding visual field now..."

Just then, a shadow darted past them—Eren.

The boy didn’t wait for a go signal. He had already tossed his coat aside and scaled the gutter pipe of the building like a squirrel, fingers locking onto every groove with startling ease. Within seconds, he reached the rooftop.

Jian looked up sharply. "Eren—"

But the boy was already working. He crept across the sloped roof, sidling between the cameras and small, sharp barrels of defense units. From beneath his shirt, he pulled a blunt-ended tool and jammed it into the maintenance ports.

Click. Pfft.

One turret powered down.

Another.

A third.

Below, Varon let out a low whistle.

The lights on the chapel’s exterior dimmed to yellow. Passive mode.

"Move," Jian ordered.

They surged forward, boots crunching dead leaves and gravel. At the heavy doors of the chapel, Jian paused for only a breath before lifting his fist and slamming it into the door.

CRACK.

The door gave with a groan, splinters erupting from the impact, hinges straining. He struck it again.

CRASH.

This time it flew open, slamming inward with a thunderous echo.

Dust billowed out like breath from a sleeping monster. Inside, shafts of light poured from broken stained glass, casting fractured rainbows onto the prestone tiled floor. Slightly dusty wooden pews lined the sides, their cushions new and unused.

But the stench—Jian’s stomach twisted.

Metal. And dust. But not just dust.

Blood. Old. Forgotten.

His boots clicked as he stepped down the central aisle, toward the crumbling altar. His breathing slowed. His senses narrowed.

Why did this feel familiar?

The scent. The air.

Something about the shape of the aisle... the low, humming silence of the air that pressed against the back of his ears.

He paused.

Then took another step—and heard it.

A hollow echo.

Not the same solid thunk as before.

His footstep sounded different.

"...It’s down there," Li Wang said softly, adjusting his cracked glasses with a sigh. He stayed back, standing just beneath the shattered archway of the door. His expression was unreadable, but the faint tremble in his fingers betrayed him.

Jian turned to him, confusion in his eyes.

Li Wang stared at the floor. Then at Jian.

"Jian..." he said, voice dropping into a whisper. "You should stay here. Let the others go down. Let them save her."

Jian narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Li Wang hesitated.

He bit his lower lip, pressing it so tightly it turned white. Then red. Then white again.

"I don’t want you to see what’s down there," he said finally. His voice broke at the end. "You... shouldn’t have to."

Jian stared.

Something cold wrapped around his ribs—fear? Memory? He didn’t know.

But he did know one thing.

He had to go down.

Li Wang hesitated only a second longer before reaching behind the broken altar and pressing his palm against a rusted stone panel. There was a soft hiss—barely audible—followed by a click. A portion of the stone floor shifted, grinding outward in a slow arc. Dust puffed up from ancient cracks as a circular platform rose from beneath, revealing a hidden lift surrounded by aged, reinforced alloy.

Jian stared, lips parting slightly.

Li Wang didn’t speak.

Instead, he stepped forward and placed his right hand on the glowing console mounted to the side of the lift. A small lens slid out from beneath the interface, scanning his fingers first—then his eye.

The machine whirred in cold recognition.

ACCESS GRANTED.

The panel lit up green, and the platform jerked once, then began to descend, the cracked floor swallowing them whole.

Jian, Varon, Li Wang, Eren, and Nansick stood shoulder to shoulder in the tight space. Silence pressed in around them, broken only by the low rumble of machinery deep beneath.

The ceiling above slowly vanished as they sank further into the dark.

For a long moment, there was nothing to see—only rough walls of concrete and forgotten cables.

Then—

A burst of white light erupted from below, blinding in its sharpness.

The lift passed through a ring of cold illumination, and the world opened beneath them.

The underground lab stretched wide in all directions—impossibly large, like an entire facility had been buried here long before the mansion was ever built. The floor was sleek steel, segmented into research zones by holographic partitions and reinforced walls. Screens and floating terminals flickered with data in old dialects, and security drones hovered above, their wings humming softly.

But at the center—

A massive Farian ship sat suspended by magnetic locks, its hull cracked but mostly intact. Tubes snaked from its underside into the floors and walls, draining or feeding something unseen. Researchers swarmed around its open flanks, analyzing, cataloging, extracting.

And all around them—along the perimeter—were dozens of containment pods.

Rows of them.

Jian’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned forward.

Inside the thick glass casings floated figures.

Human... but not.

They drifted in green-blue fluid, connected by cables and tubes, suspended like sleeping corpses. Some had pale skin, some looked almost Farian. Many bore half-formed limbs, strange gill-like ridges along their necks, or spines that shimmered faintly beneath their translucent skin.

But Jian didn’t register most of them.

His eyes were already locked on one.

Far in the corner, nearly hidden behind a sloping console, a larger containment pod glowed with internal light. Its glass was cleaner than the rest, as though someone maintained it more carefully.

And inside...

A woman.

Her long blond hair floated like silk around her body, strands catching the light like gold underwater. Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, her skin smooth, unmarred. She looked asleep. Peaceful.

But Jian felt like something had just caved in behind his ribs.

"...Her," he whispered.

No one else said a word.

Li Wang bowed his head, unable to meet his eyes.

"That’s why I didn’t want you to come down," he murmured. "Because I knew you would be devastated."

Jian stepped to the edge of the lift as it lowered into the main level. His feet touched the metal floor soundlessly.

His heart thundered in his ears.

Because the face in that pod—the soft mouth, the high cheekbones, the quiet curve of her lashes—

He’d never seen her before.

And yet every atom in his body screamed that he knew her.

He staggered forward, ignoring the approaching security drones. Ignoring Varon’s warning hand. Ignoring Li Wang’s quiet, miserable voice.

He pressed his palm against the glass.

And stared into the face of a woman who birthed him.

A woman who, somehow, was everything he had forgotten.

"INTRUDERS!"

The shout cracked through the sterile air like gunfire itself.

Heavy boots pounded across the steel floor as uniformed security personnel began flooding toward the central chamber. Black rifles with glowing red indicators swung into place. Laser sights dotted the walls. Some of the scientists scattered, diving behind consoles and terminals. Others remained frozen in place—staring in wide-eyed horror at the lift that had brought the nightmare down into their sanctuary.

But Jian didn’t flinch.

He didn’t even hear them.

The moment his palm met the glass, the world dimmed. The noise became static. The alarms became whispers. His breath misted against the glass, and all he could see was her.

The long, golden hair drifting gently in the blue-green fluid.

The faint flutter of her eyelashes, as if caught in a dream.

And then—

Lub-dub.

Lub-dub.

Her heartbeat. Soft. Steady. Alive.

Jian’s eyes widened.

He pressed harder against the casing, his forehead touching the cool surface.

"She’s... she’s alive," he whispered, voice shaking.

Jian didn’t move.

He couldn’t. His hand trembled against the glass. His breath shook.

Lub-dub.

Her chest rose and fell in slow rhythm beneath the viscous fluid. Thin tubes snaked down her spine and wrists, pumping unknown fluids into her. Her skin glowed faintly, not with power—but with life.

She was alive.

His mother was alive