Yunfeng's breath came in short, ragged bursts.
The drug still lingered like sludge in his bloodstream, but it was fading—burned out by the firestorm rising within him. His veins, his bones, his very skin felt like they were melting, but not with pain. With power. With rage. With something ancient and untamed.
The soldiers around him were no longer calm professionals. They were panicking.
"He's moving—Subject 07 is regaining mobility!" a voice crackled into a headset.
"He's burning through the sedatives! I said double the dosage!" another barked.
"He'll go into cardiac arrest!"
"No, we will go into flames if you don't stop him!"
Yunfeng could hear it all—their fear, their confusion. A part of him almost pitied them.
Almost.
He let the heat rise higher. He let it consume.
His fingers curled into fists, and tiny blue flames licked over his skin, casting wild shadows inside the dim chopper. The metal restraints binding his wrists groaned—then screeched—and finally, melted.
