Zero protocol: Red, The code ascendant

---

The alley stank of copper and rot.

Lian Xue crouched low behind a splintered cart, her breath slow, measured. Three men stalked the narrow passageway ahead—rogue cultivators, their aura control sloppy but potent enough to snap her spine if they landed a clean hit.

"She came through here. The blood's fresh."

They weren't wrong. Her arm was cut. On purpose. Shallow, strategic, bleeding just enough to leave a trail. Another decoy. Another trap.

Her satellite flies hovered high above, cloaked from spiritual sense, feeding her the layout in real time.

Two more were circling from behind.

"Five total. All Foundation-tier. Poorly disciplined, but fast. One has a flame-type art."

Her processing speed hit 78% restored.

The god-metal thread hidden in her boot flexed. She reached inside the wooden cart, found the makeshift handle of her current weapon—a folding scythe disguised as a snapped plank.

It wasn't made from her arm.

It wasn't flashy.

It was sharp.

With a twist, the blade unfolded into three jagged segments, humming low with kinetic charge. She counted their footsteps.

Five... four...

One veered to the left, just as planned.

She moved.

The scythe cut through air and flesh before the man even registered her presence. She pivoted, using his falling body as cover, threw a compressed flasher-bug to the right.

It detonated in a burst of piercing white.

Two more stumbled back, eyes blinded, qi flaring defensively—too late.

She slipped past the staggered front and drove her blade into the base of the nearest one's neck, twisted, then ducked low as a fireball lit up the alley.

The heat grazed her shoulder. Her skin burned. Not the metal—the skin.

She gritted her teeth.

Pain wasn't real.

But it was necessary.

She let the flames singe her sleeve, creating a dramatic visual for anyone watching.

"She's just a mortal! How—?"

The last two tried to retreat. She let them.

They would spread fear faster than her blade could.

---

By nightfall, Lian Xue was patching her fake wounds in a ruined house on the outskirts of the city. The room reeked of dust and mold. She didn't mind.

She preferred places like this.

Unclaimed. Forgotten. Silent.

She peeled back her blood-soaked robe. Beneath the torn fabric, her skin looked human. But underneath that—a network of living god-metal pulsed faintly.

"I need more energy."

Her sync level ticked upward: Power Level 4.7.

Still low.

Still weak.

The metal weapon beside her shivered. It responded more quickly now. More naturally. When she touched it, it split into several parts—sword, whip, shield, dagger, all folded in layers.

Transformable. Responsive. Hungry.

"Not enough," she whispered.

---

The next week passed in blood and motion.

Another bounty. Another ambush. Another narrow escape that left her limping and smiling.

It wasn't about pride.

It was training.

She forced her body to adapt. Forced her reactions faster. Every strike became cleaner. Every dodge tighter. She didn't have qi, but she had data. She analyzed every fight down to micro-angles.

Some thought she was lucky.

Others thought she was insane.

But none of them understood the real equation:

> "Adapt or die."

---

Then came the mercenaries.

Three rogue sects had joined hands, sending ten bounty hunters to eliminate the "dangerous mortal" who had killed too many of their disciples.

They expected a scared girl.

What they found was a ghost.

By the time they reached the ruins where she was rumored to hide, three of their number were already gone. Silent kills. No qi signature. No footprints.

The leader, an iron-spirit cultivator, roared:

"Show yourself, coward!"

She did.

From the sky.

A calculated drop, timed perfectly, with gravity-assisted force. Her weapon split midair, forming a double-ended blade. She landed in their midst with a burst of dust, pivoted, and sliced through the nearest man's core before he could turn.

Another swing. Another throat opened.

They scrambled to react, but their formation had already collapsed.

"She's not normal!"

She didn't argue.

She just moved.

When the last one fell, gasping for breath, he looked up at her and whispered:

"You... you're not a mortal..."

She tilted her head.

"Not entirely."

---

By midnight, she sat atop a ruined spire outside the city, watching the stars.

Her hand trembled slightly.

She wasn't unscathed. Her shoulder ached. A rib might've cracked.

But she was alive.

And her Power Level now read: 5.1.

With it came a new ability: Magnetic Disruption Field.

Localized. Silent. Perfect for destabilizing qi formations and metal-based weapons.

"Not flashy... but effective," she murmured.

A small smile touched her lips.

They would keep coming.

But so would she.

Always one step ahead.

Always calculating.

Until the day they learned what she really was.

And by then...

It would be too late.