The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 239: Chapter 239 - Gruesome death

Li Wang stood at the edge of the chamber, his back pressed lightly against a fractured pillar, watching the pair in the center of the room.

Xing Yu knelt silently, arms wrapped protectively around Jian, who clung to him like a lifeline. The boy’s golden hair shimmered faintly, his face buried in the Farian’s chest. There was no sound now, no sobbing, no words—only the weight of their shared grief, heavy and suffocating, hanging in the air like fog.

Li Wang’s heart twisted.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

For years... he had known.

For years, he had turned a blind eye, aided the research, processed the data, delivered the files. At the time, it was just work. Numbers. Biology. A project far above his clearance, never asking questions he wasn’t paid to ask.

Because back then...

He hadn’t befriended a Farian.

He hadn’t known what they could feel. The depth of their empathy, the way they resonated with one another, so deeply it could break them. He hadn’t known how strong their bonds were—how sacred, how pure.

And now... now he was standing in the shadow of something real.

He licked his dry lips, breath shaky. His chest ached, and it wasn’t from the smoke or the tremors.

The sadness—it was almost tangible. Like it hung thick in the air, coating the walls, soaking into the bloodstained floor. He could feel it like static on his skin. That terrible anguish, raw and endless.

His vision blurred.

Tears welled in his eyes, hot and silent.

Guilt. So much guilt.

He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to speak, but—

A hand grabbed his arm.

He jumped, startled, and whipped his head around.

Standing beside him was Nansick, his face pale, drenched in sweat. His uniform was torn, and dirt smudged his cheeks. He was breathing heavily, one hand gripping Li Wang’s arm like a man barely keeping upright.

”Um...” Nansick mumbled, glancing nervously at the trembling walls around them, ”This place... looks like it’s gonna collapse.”

His voice was soft but urgent, and a fresh tremor underfoot seemed to agree. The lights above flickered violently. The tank holding the Farian queen let out a sharp ping, the glass visibly cracking.

Li Wang stiffened.

Jian’s sobs had slowly faded, reduced to soft, uneven breaths against Xing Yu’s chest. He lay still for a long moment, clinging to the warmth, the heartbeat, the silent comfort that only Xing could give him.

And then, gently, he pulled away.

His golden eyes looked up, and for the first time, he saw it.

Tears.

Not just in his own eyes—but in Xing Yu’s.

The great Farian general—cold, composed, unshakable—had cried. His pale lashes were wet, silver streaks trailing down his cheeks. Jian’s heart clenched at the sight, small fingers reaching up on their own. He cupped Xing’s face delicately, thumbs brushing away the tears.

The man didn’t flinch. He let the boy touch him. Let him wipe away the evidence of a pain he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

Jian’s voice trembled. ”Will it be okay... to kill them?” he asked quietly. ”The ones who hurt our kind?”

His brows furrowed. ”Will I... lose my humanity if I do?”

The question hung between them.

A boy not older than a fragile breath, yet already burdened with the weight of vengeance. Of morality. Of impossible grief.

Xing Yu stared down at him for a long time.

Then, slowly, ever so gently, he smiled.

It was small. Soft. Broken. But sincere.

”Destroy them all,” he said.

Not a command.

A permission.

A truth.

A vow.

Jian’s eyes widened a fraction, and then he gave a single, steady nod.

He turned his head.

And met Wang Bushen’s gaze.

The man had slumped against the side wall, his face ghostly pale. Blood had soaked into his clothes, but his eyes were wide, wet, locked onto the golden-haired boy with the expression of a man seeing something otherworldly.

Terror.

Pure, soul-deep terror.

Jian didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He only stared, and that alone made Wang Bushen crawl back with what little strength he had left, dragging his shattered legs behind him like a dying animal.

Jian stood slowly.

Each motion was quiet, deliberate—almost too gentle for what now radiated from his small frame. His golden hair shimmered faintly with every breath, that faint glowing gem on his forehead flickering like a candle flame caught in a rising wind.

His eyes remained fixed on Wang Bushen.

Seeing him rise, Wang’s broken composure shattered entirely.

”No—no, please—no!” the man whimpered, his voice cracking with desperation. He began to crawl backward on his elbows, dragging his bloodied, shattered legs behind him, leaving a smear along the metal floor. ”I-I was just following—orders—I didn’t mean to hurt anyone—I didn’t know he was—”

He glanced wildly toward the lift—the only escape in sight.

A glimmer of hope sparked in his panicked eyes, and he turned toward it like a drowning man reaching for a final breath. With every ounce of will left in his mangled body, he pulled himself toward the open elevator doors, moaning through the pain.

One arm forward. Then another.

But the moment he reached the halfway mark—

A presence fell over him like a cold shadow.

Wang Bushen froze mid-crawl.

His breathing hitched.

His head turned ever so slowly, trembling.

And there, crouched right in front of him—was Jian.

He hadn’t seen him move.

Hadn’t heard a sound.

But suddenly, impossibly, the boy was there, kneeling low, face only inches from his.

Wang Bushen’s eyes bulged in pure horror.

Jian’s pale, beautiful face hovered just out of reach. That glowing gem between his brows cast soft light onto Wang’s cheeks, and those golden eyes—radiant and still moist from tears—now held something infinitely colder beneath their sadness.

Not rage.

Not madness.

Just silence.

An ancient, aching stillness.

”Ahhhhhh!!” Wang Bushen screamed, the sound high and raw as he flung himself backward, scraping skin and bone as he tried to flee.

But there was nowhere to go.

Nowhere to run.

Only that gaze, following him.

Unblinking.

Wang Bushen scrambled backward, nails tearing against the steel floor, smearing blood and skin as he dragged himself toward the elevator—toward anything that could save him from the glowing child crouched before him like a judgment given form.

Jian rose to his feet again, slowly, with eerie calm.

His golden eyes never left the man.

He walked—walked—toward him, soft footfalls echoing like war drums in Wang’s ears. The tremors in the ground barely seemed to touch him now. He moved like he belonged to the shaking earth, like the collapsing world bent around him.

”No—please—PLEASE—don’t—!” Wang sobbed, reaching out toward anyone—Xing Yu, Li Wang, Nansick, the gods—anyone who might save him. But no one moved. Not even Xing.

Because they all understood.

This was not vengeance.

It was justice.

Wang screamed again as Jian extended one hand.

The gem on his forehead pulsed once—bright—and then all at once the air warped.

A sound tore through the corridor. A sharp, vibrating hum that made the metal walls bend inward, groaning, like they were being pulled apart by unseen strings.

Wang clutched his ears. Blood poured from them instantly.

”AHHHHHH—”

Jian lifted his palm.

The vibrations increased.

Wang’s body began to lift slightly off the floor, twitching violently like a marionette in broken hands. His skin rippled unnaturally, bones contorting with loud, sickening cracks. The pressure around him tightened with each second—like reality itself was squeezing in.

Blood burst from his nose.

Then his eyes.

And then—

With one sharp gesture from Jian—

CRACK.

His left arm snapped backward at the joint, twisting over his shoulder like a corkscrew. The man howled, a raw, animalistic scream.

Jian didn’t stop.

He stepped forward and gripped Wang’s jaw with one small hand—his fingers glowing with that golden light—and lifted his face to meet his own.

Wang trembled. His mouth worked, but no words came out—only wet, gurgled breaths.

”You touched me,” Jian said softly, voice clear and childlike, but devoid of mercy. ”You thought I’d forget.”

Golden light pulsed from his palm—and suddenly, flesh along Wang’s neck began to bubble. Veins turned dark under his skin. His jawbone cracked audibly, bone stretching as if something inside was trying to claw out.

”Please—” Wang gurgled, but the inside of his mouth had already turned black.

Jian leaned in close, forehead almost touching his.

”I hope you feel it,” he whispered. ”I hope every nerve screams.”

Then, with a calm exhale, he pushed his hand through Wang’s mouth.

Not physically—but with the same vibrating energy he had summoned before. The force shattered the man’s lower jaw, driving light down his throat like a divine blade.

Wang Bushen convulsed once—

—and exploded from the inside out.

Blood, bone, and charred flesh sprayed across the floor, walls, and ceiling in a single horrific burst. Fragments of his ribs clattered across the floor like broken pottery. The man’s eyes had melted from his skull before he even hit the ground.

What remained was a mangled heap of what used to be a man—smoking, twitching, and barely recognizable.

Silence.

Only Jian remained standing in the center of it, expression calm, breath steady.

He turned around, golden eyes glowing faintly.

And no one—not even the most hardened of soldiers—could meet his gaze.