The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 122: Chapter 122 - In the way

Dican finally got a secure line through. ”Hey, Xing.”

On the other end, there was a pause, and then a low, familiar hum. ”You still alive?”

”Of course not. Even fire can’t kill me,” Dican replied dryly, scratching at the still-healing wound on the back of his head. His fingers brushed over a hard, golden scab that had formed. It shimmered faintly in the dim light, like hardened starlight. He grimaced, peeled it off without a flinch, and casually tossed it away. his hair was matted now with the goldne blood making it even more annoying.

”I stole the last known location of my younger brother,” he began, voice low and fast, ”but the problem is—I kind of lost it in the fire. So I don’t know what to do. I kinda know where he is, but I don’t know how to get to it, or where exactly. I just...” he trailed off, frustrated.

For all that, Xing Yu only gave a curt reply: ”He’s at the dumping grounds near the other side of the city.”

Dican blinked. His hand went to his head again, fingers slipping into his hair. ”Really? I heard he was close to that new business building we were building... So he moved. How did you know?”

”I asked,” came the quiet answer.

Dican paused, eyebrows slightly raised. He almost smiled at the typical Xing Yu way of saying something huge in the smallest way possible. ”Okay...”

His eyes slid back to the boy—Bian—who had started chatting with the construction workers. Now that he was among people he seemed to know, Dican figured he’d stay put. The kid wouldn’t follow him around anymore. With a sigh, Dican lowered the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

”Hey, I’ll pay for the phone. I’m taking it. Sorry,” he muttered to the mason as he turned sharply on his heel.

He dashed out of the construction site, boots pounding the dirt.

But before he could get too far, he heard it—the unmistakable rhythm of small footsteps hurrying after him.

He stopped mid-step, turned back.

Sure enough, the human boy was there, trailing behind him like a shadow.

Dican’s brows furrowed. ”Why are you following me?” he asked, annoyed but not unkind. Just... confused.

Bian flinched, eyes wide. His fingers trembled as he clutched the hem of his shirt. ”I... I’m scared and I...”

”You’re with people you know,” Dican said firmly. ”These people can be trusted. Stay with them.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one. Now he had to prioritize finding his friend and then going on a search for his new found brother of his.

But Bian didn’t stop.

He didn’t even give Dican a chance to leave.

As the last vestiges of night faded, the pale edge of daybreak crept over the horizon, casting an orange glow through the orchard’s mist-covered trees. The sky was slowly bleeding into warmth, and yet all Bian could feel was the cold dread curling in his stomach. He trailed after the Farian relentlessly, watching the alien man walk ahead, sword still tucked under his arm as if it were just another limb.

They entered the thick, forested orchard path.

The trees here had long shed their fruits, and their empty branches whispered in the morning breeze. Dican’s gait never slowed, his boots silent against the damp earth. He knew this land, and he moved through it like it belonged to him.

Suddenly, there was a shift.

Leaves rustled.

Bian’s heart jumped into his throat.

He darted forward and gripped the back of Dican’s coat. ”Something is here,” he whispered, breath catching.

Dican’s eyes narrowed. Without turning, he shook Bian’s hand off him and smoothly pulled the sword from under his arm. ”I was wondering how long they’d keep hiding.”

Before Bian could ask what he meant, the forest erupted.

Five grotesque, gray tentacles burst from the undergrowth like spears—cracking through bark, ripping up roots, and lashing out with sickening speed. The creatures they belonged to charged forward, skeletal and wet, their bodies pulsing with rot and hunger.

The tentacles shot out toward them, aiming to tie, bind, and crush.

Bian screamed.

The sound tore through the quiet orchard like a gunshot.

Without thinking, he jumped at Dican’s back, clinging tightly to him, burying his face in the warmth of the alien’s coat.

”What the—!?” Dican stumbled forward, the unexpected weight throwing him off-balance.

The tentacles seized the chance.

One wrapped around his leg, yanking hard. Dican growled as he lost his footing and was dragged across the mossy ground. His back slammed into the earth with a heavy thud. The breath left his lungs.

”Ahhh!” Bian screamed again—louder, sharper this time, shrill enough to rattle the birds from the trees.

Dican gritted his teeth. The screaming. The clinging. The damn tentacles.

”GET OFF ME!” he snarled, grabbing Bian by the collar and flinging him to the side. The boy landed with a soft yelp in a pile of leaves, heart pounding and eyes wide.

With Bian clear of him, Dican snapped into motion.

His sword glinted in the sunlight as he sliced through the nearest tentacle, black-green ichor spraying into the air. He moved fast, even with one leg injured, hacking and twisting, dodging just enough to keep from getting pinned again.

Each creature he struck howled in that bone-cracking pitch only Graylings knew, their limbs writhing in pain as he tore through them.

But by the time the last monster collapsed in a twitching heap, Dican was gasping for breath.

His leg—caught and crushed earlier—was oozing blood. He could barely stand on it. A tendon had probably snapped. He winced as he straightened, leaning against a tree for support.

Behind him, Bian stared in horror and awe.

His mouth trembled. ”Y-you saved me.”

Dican didn’t answer. He simply sheathed his blood-soaked sword, looked down at his ruined leg, and cursed under his breath.

Then he glanced back at the boy with cold eyes.

”Next time, stay the hell back.”