The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 87

“BOOM——!!!”

A deafening roar tore through the void, and the entire “Shield” Base seemed to be gripped by an invisible giant hand, shaking violently.

Inside the control room, the shrill alarms merged with the metallic groans of twisted steel. Cups on the table tumbled and shattered. Everyone clutched at anything that could keep them grounded, and through the massive observation windows, they watched an apocalyptic scene unfold, forgetting even to breathe.

Black.

An endless, ravenous tsunami of grotesque insectoid creatures surged from all directions, devouring every inch of light in the cosmos. They collided frantically against the base’s pale-blue energy shields, sending shockwaves across its surface, threatening to shatter it.

“Marshal!” The technician at the control console went pale as paper, his voice trembling uncontrollably. “The shield’s energy… it’s dropping geometrically! At this rate… we won’t last ten minutes!”

“All fire units, open fire indiscriminately!” Xiao Lin’s voice was as cold as ice, filled with absolute calm and iron-willed killing intent. “Blast them back!”

Orders given, countless beams of light tore through the darkness, igniting bursts of fire within the insect horde.

Yet, an even more terrifying assault came silently.

“Aaaah—!”

A piercing scream suddenly cut through the chaos in the control room.

A young sentinel manning a turret clutched his helmet, writhing on the floor in agony, blood seeping from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He felt as if his brain had been pierced by ten thousand searing steel needles; his spiritual sea was torn apart in an instant.

And this was just the beginning.

“Ugh! Ahhh!”

“My head… my head is going to explode! Help…!”

“Spiritual link… cut off… I can feel nothing…”

One after another, the empire’s normally iron-willed sentinels screamed in agony, as if their spiritual lifelines had been crushed. Their spiritual seas collapsed under invisible, excruciating pain, and they dropped to the ground like lifeless dolls.

Because the operators fell, deadly gaps instantly appeared in what had been an impenetrable defense line.

Mutated variants! They could unleash large-scale mental attacks!

“It’s over…”

“Mom…”

Despair, like the most virulent plague, instantly crushed everyone’s final psychological defenses. Cries, prayers, and agonized screams blended into one. They were finished.

Amid this infernal chaos, a trace of crimson despair finally appeared in Xiao Lin’s dark-golden eyes. He could die in battle, but he could not watch the people he had vowed to protect—and the soldiers in this base—be consumed alive.

His hand trembled as he slowly reached for the red button on the command console, the one that initiated the self-destruct sequence.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch it, a cool hand gently but firmly grabbed the edge of his coat.

Xiao Lin snapped around.

It was Ning Ning.

Among all the frenzied or despairing faces around them, his eyes—the dreamy purple ones—showed not a trace of fear.

He simply looked at Xiao Lin, at the blood-red veins in his eyes, at the taut line of his jaw, at the burden of responsibility that weighed on him like a mountain.

“Ning Ning, get behind me!” Xiao Lin instinctively tried to shield him with his body, to protect him from it all.

But Ning Ning just shook his head gently.

He lifted his face, and on that exquisitely delicate, almost unreal face, a calm yet unwavering smile slowly spread.

That smile seemed to say: Don’t be afraid. I’ve got this.

Then Xiao Lin heard him speak in a soft, gentle voice, clear enough to cut through all the noise:

“Let me do it.”

With that, Ning Ning released his hold.

He walked toward the base’s central broadcast system, and all eyes—Xiao Lin’s and even Gu Qingfeng’s—followed in shock, confusion, and a strange, unacknowledged sense of pride.

His silhouette was delicate, as if a gust of wind could knock him down.

Yet at that moment, the normally fragile, easily frightened little bunny—who would cry red-eyed at the smallest scare—walked with absolute steadiness.

Each step was light but seemed to press upon everyone’s heart.

He was no longer a treasure to be protected.

He chose to become the guardian of all.

The chaos in the control room seemed to pause. Everyone stared at him, at the silver-haired, violet-eyed boy as he ascended the podium and gently placed his long fingers on the broadcast activation panel.

He closed his eyes.

Long lashes cast a quiet shadow across his pale face.

The next second, he poured all his spiritual energy through the broadcast system, without reserve, like a rising tide.

It was neither an attack nor a purge.

It was a… song.

Silent.

No one could hear it with their ears.

But in that instant, every surviving sentinel and soldier felt an indescribable, gentle force, like cool moonlight, washing over their fraying spiritual seas.

The maddening pain vanished; the soul-rending fear was soothed; racing hearts gradually returned to a calm beat.

“…It doesn’t hurt anymore?” a sentinel whispered, touching his head.

“My spiritual sea… it feels like soaking in warm water…”

Everyone froze.

They all instinctively raised their heads and through the observation windows, witnessed a miracle they would never forget.

The endless, violent black insectoid horde stalled the instant it encountered that invisible song.

Yes. They stopped.

No longer did they smash against the shields, no longer did they emit piercing screeches. The millions of monstrous creatures seemed to obey a command from the deepest recesses of their instincts—irresistible, absolute. Slowly, even reverently, they retracted their jagged mandibles and limbs.

The chaotic battlefield fell into an eerie, sacred silence.

All eyes fixed on the boy before the broadcast system.

A faint, pearl-purple aura enveloped him, and his silver hair floated without wind. He was not fighting, yet this infernal starfield had become a serene kingdom beneath his divine throne.

“It’s… the Moon God…” a young soldier whispered, tears spilling uncontrollably.

Not tears of fear, but tears of witnessing a miracle.

“The Moon God! The Moon God is protecting us!”

Xiao Lin gripped his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, but he felt no pain. His gaze burned with pride, love, and a possessive, mad heat.

This was his Ning Ning.

His precious, whom he had feared would break if held too tightly, melt if kissed too long.

Now, he stood like a deity, reigning over the battlefield.

The sight drove Xiao Lin to both ecstasy and terror.

Gu Qingfeng beside him, his usual gentle smile gone, stared at Ning Ning in a frenzy of adoration.

This was their god.

Someone they would give everything to protect, to claim, to draw into their world.

…

Far away, in a black flagship hidden in the shadows of an asteroid belt, a vague figure sat upon a massive throne, observing the impossible scene on the star map.

A low, twisted laugh escaped his throat—an expression of desire and madness.

“Found it…”

“Finally… I found it…”

His pale, long fingers lightly touched the holographic star map, as if trying to reach the figure bathed in purple light.

His voice carried twisted tenderness and an unquestionable command.

“Project Moon Capture, cast the net.”

“Go… bring my god…”

“—please… return.”

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