Deviant: No Longer Human

A moment after…

"O-Oh fuuuuck—G-God! S-Slow down!"

The bartender's glasses were gone.

Her once-neatly tied bun? Now a chaotic masterpiece, golden strands sticking to her damp skin as her legs hung wide open like a "Welcome" sign at a discount brothel.

Just a minute ago—

She had smugly sipped her drink, casually watching the degeneracy, and muttered:

"God, I fucking love this job."

And now?

Now she was screaming His name like a church girl on Sunday.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Meanwhile—

Wang Xiao's hips showed no mercy.

His thrusts were a public service announcement, drilling deep with the force of a man on a government-funded infrastructure mission.

The bartender's hands gripped the seat, her toes curling, her moans getting higher than the plane's altitude.

Next to her?

Wang Mei was a mess.

Her once-elegant lavender cheongsam was nothing more than a pathetic pile of fabric on the floor, discarded like her sense of dignity.

Her grayish-crystal eyes trembled, her bare chest rising and falling in uneven, desperate breaths, as though her very soul had been rearranged.

And then there was Wang Xueying.

Oh, poor, destroyed Wang Xueying.

She staggered, her legs shaking like a prisoner fresh out of solitary confinement, attempting—and failing spectacularly—to put her clothes back on.

Her hands? Fucking useless.

Her fingers fumbled helplessly over the buttons, trembling so badly you'd think she was defusing a bomb instead of closing her damn blouse.

She gulped, her cheeks burning.

Her other hand wiped at herself like a woman trying to scrub away sin—except the sin had already soaked into her very soul.

Her brain? Gone.

Her dignity? Now a myth.

Her self-respect? Lost at sea.

And Wang Xiao?

That bastard wasn't even done.

The devil was still at work.

___

[Macau – Where Fortune Fucks You Harder Than a High-Class Escort]

An hour later…

Swoosh...

The moment their feet touched the ground, Wang Xueying and Wang Mei staggered slightly, their legs still weak from the merciless "in-flight turbulence" they had suffered earlier.

Yet, despite the sheer brutality their bodies endured, their spirits remained intact.

Because Macau stood before them.

And Macau was fucking gorgeous.

Massive golden skyscrapers loomed overhead, glittering like stacks of gold bars in the night. The skyline was a neon symphony of excess, every building an unstoppable, glaring advertisement for poor life choices.

On one side, the Grand Lisboa Tower pierced the sky like a golden lotus, its curved edges glowing like the temple of some ancient gambling god.

On the other, The Venetian Macau, with its Italian-themed canals and bridges, promised riches, luxury, and a swift, humiliating financial death.

Then there was Galaxy Macau, a massive pleasure fortress lined with pools, bars, and VIP rooms where fortunes and marriages collapsed at equal speed.

And, of course, Studio City, where Hollywood aesthetics met Macau's signature brand of legalized corruption, the bright lights drawing in gamblers like flies to an electric zapper.

It was a kingdom of gamblers.

A city where dreams were sold, men were ruined, and women either left rich, naked, or in someone's bed.

To say they didn't want to come here would be a blatant fucking lie.

But coming alone?

Suicide.

With Wang Xiao here, though?

Oh, they were about to fuck this city harder than it had ever been fucked before.

____

Meanwhile…

Wang Xiao couldn't give two shits about casinos.

He had bigger things to investigate.

So while the sisters were getting ready to ruin their financial futures, he headed to the other side of the city—where things were far, far worse.

A dungeon had appeared.

Apparently, a massive section of the land had collapsed overnight, swallowing buildings, streets, and possibly a few idiots who had lost their last dime at the baccarat table.

From the hole, corrupted monsters and mutated beings were pouring out like an all-you-can-eat buffet of nightmares.

With Aether fully integrated into the world, monsters appearing wasn't shocking.

But not like this.

Not at this scale.

And after killing Renji, Wang Xiao had assumed that monster breakouts would slow down.

They didn't.

So now?

He was going to find the real cause.

And if the answer pissed him off?

Macau would need a new hole in the ground.

____

Back at the Casinos…

Wang Xueying, lounging in the extravagant VIP section of The Venetian, stared blankly at the scene before her.

Her entire worldview was crumbling.

Because, for the first time, she fully understood why these two little daughters of Wang Xiao were banned from gambling.

They had the worst fucking gambling skills in history.

Their logic?

If you can't win…

Then you must not lose either.

And how does one ensure they don't lose?

By continuing to lose.

Endlessly.

Until the debt reaches such an astronomical level that they can literally destroy the casino itself.

How?

By borrowing enough money to rent a fucking cargo plane, loading it with billions in paper bills and coins, and then dumping the entire load over the casino building until the sheer weight collapses it into the earth.

"Yup. Perfectly logical."

Wang Xueying buried her face in her hands.

She needed alcohol.

A lot of it.

Or at the very least, a lawyer.

____

[The Dungeon Beneath the Waves]

Bang!

Bang!

"Roarr..."

The sky over Port Azure was lit in streaks of red and blue, laser fire slicing through the night as Macau's Defense Force (MDF) waged an endless battle against the unholy tide of horrors crawling from the abyss beneath the ocean.

What had once been a bustling trade hub was now a battlefield of carnage and blood.

A massive hole had ripped open the seafloor, an underground dungeon submerged beneath the waves, its entrance a gaping void that pulsed with unnatural energy.

And from that abyss, the monsters crawled out.

Not one by one.

Not in small numbers.

They poured.

Like a plague bursting from the ocean's womb.

The first creatures to emerge were Abyssal Crawlers—skittering, crustacean-like fiends with bloated exoskeletons, their blackened shells dripping with acidic seawater. Their multiple legs clacked against the dock, their jaws splitting open sideways, revealing rows of writhing, lamprey-like tongues.

They didn't just bite.

They drilled their mouths into flesh.

Soldiers opened fire, their high-tech rifles blasting beams of white-hot energy, piercing through the armor-like carapace of the Crawlers, leaving smoking holes where their torsos used to be.

And yet, more replaced them.

Emerging behind them were Leviathan Stalkers—twisted humanoid figures, their bodies coated in bioluminescent scales, their limbs too long, too thin, their clawed hands dragging against the dock like marionettes of the deep.

Their sunken, glowing eyes twitched rapidly, their mouths unhinging unnaturally wide, releasing a deafening, mind-numbing screech that sent some soldiers doubling over, blood leaking from their ears.

The gunships retaliated, railgun rounds tearing through them, sending chunks of mutated flesh splattering across the concrete.

And yet, they kept coming.

Then, from the water, the true terror emerged.

Abyss Kings.

Towering, quadrupedal horrors, their bodies made of rotting, twisted flesh, with ridges of sharpened bones protruding from their backs like jagged coral.

Their heads?

No eyes.

Just massive, gaping maws stretching from one side of their skull to the other, filled with rows upon rows of rotating teeth, their throats a bottomless vortex of blackness.

A soldier's scream barely escaped his lips before an Abyss King's mouth widened unnaturally, distorting space itself—

And the man was gone.

Not bitten.

Not chewed.

Gone.

As if reality itself had swallowed him whole.

The helicopters blasted them with high-powered plasma rounds, burning through their flesh, but the damn things kept regenerating, their bodies knitting back together like time was rewinding itself.

The battle raged on.

The dockyard shook with every explosion.

The stench of death covered everything.

The city lights of Macau flickered in the background, their neon brilliance an ironic contrast to the sheer nightmare at the port.

And through all of this—

Wang Xiao walked forward.

Casually.

Like none of it fucking mattered.

His boots barely made a sound against the pavement as he approached the barricade, his hands tucked in his pockets, his expression bored, detached.

Then—

"Halt!"

A soldier stepped forward, rifle raised, visor reflecting the fiery chaos behind him.

For a brief moment, Wang Xiao thought he was being stopped—

Until he noticed something.

The soldier wasn't looking at him.

He was looking to his right.

And standing fifty meters ahead of him, much closer to the barricade, was a strange foreign woman.

Trying to get in.

Wang Xiao's eyes barely flickered toward the woman fifty meters ahead, much closer to the barricade than he was.

But before he could even register the details, the soldier who had stopped him suddenly stiffened—his grip on the rifle faltering as his helmet tilted slightly, as if he just realized he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

And then—

"I-It's the Human Empress…!"