The dozen or so figures that surged out fanned out in a staggered formation, encircling Tang Lanyan.
Her keen eyes swept over the group, and her willow-leaf brows furrowed slightly; she recognized several individuals among them whom she had previously defeated during the chase.
Although her power seemed strangely suppressed—preventing her from delivering a swift, lethal blow—she recalled inflicting severe injuries on many of them, the kind that shouldn't have healed so quickly.
—That is, assuming the context was the jungle.
Yet here they stood, completely unscathed. Coupled with the unnatural atmosphere of this forest—which seemed utterly devoid of life—a realization dawned on her.
However, even in such a dire predicament, her resolve remained unshaken.
She was the "Battle Queen," and she trusted Zhiran implicitly. The two sisters shared a profound, wordless connection; a single glance told her that Zhiran had surely arranged an escape route. All she had to do was seize that slim chance with everything she had.
"Heh heh... Bitch, didn't expect to see me back again, did you?"
A towering Black man stepped forward from the crowd. His bald head and exposed muscles glistened; his previously damaged leg and mechanical arm were now fully restored. He grinned menacingly, cracking his knuckles as he eyed her.
He snarled at the others around him, "I'm going first—you lot stand aside and watch!"
The surrounding group—comprising former teammates and elite fighters gathered from across the globe—wore mixed expressions. It was obvious to everyone that the Battle Queen was now at the end of her tether.
A full day of high-intensity pursuit had drained her stamina, and she hadn't had a drop of water. Furthermore, under the suppressive effects of the "hunting ground," their own capabilities were not far off from hers; naturally, few were keen to let the Black man claim the first strike.
Still, no one voiced any objection. It was just as well that someone tested the "War Queen's" current state; after all, one was facing the War Queen herself. Even with her powers suppressed and fighting like a cornered beast, several people had already suffered grievous injuries—some even dying instantly, beyond saving.
That was the War Queen; one could never afford to let their guard down around her.
Tang Lanyan cast a cold gaze at the Black man, her chin tilted slightly upward. Her full, firm breasts rose and fell gently, a bead of sweat clinging to the tip of one nipple. Though she was ready for combat, she felt no trepidation toward this man she had defeated time and again.
Tang Lanyan's gaze held no contempt—only indifference. Yet, that very indifference infuriated James, the Black man, driving him into a blind rage.
He had grown up in the slums. His mother was a common street whore who frequently brought johns home, the sounds of their coupling echoing loudly; he had even actively solicited clients for her, watching with his own eyes as his mother—her breasts hanging like lumps of rotting flesh—sucked cocks.
Yet even a piece of trash like his mother looked down on the local vagrants; consequently, he had learned from a young age to despise women and the weak.
Later, relying on his innate physical gifts as a Black man, he turned to robbery, rape, and murder, wantonly brutalizing the weak. After awakening supernatural powers, he became a supervillain beyond the reach of the law.
There were plenty of "little bitches" whose brains had been rotted by Marvel movies; thinking that awakening powers meant they could become superheroes and punish evil, they ended up getting fucked so hard their pussies were left gaping and raw.
To him, weakness was the ultimate sin—the weak deserved to be trampled upon. Women were nothing more than cock-sleeves; all they needed to do was obediently spread their legs and take the fucking. When he first heard the title "Battle Queen," he had scoffed; he had seen plenty of bitches like that—wearing a mask of righteous indignation—only to see them weeping, begging for mercy, rolling their eyes back, and snot running down their faces once he pinned them down and drove his massive black cock inside them.
That was until the jungles of northern Myanmar.
Tang Lanyan shattered his worldview with a single kick; his confidence, arrogance, and brutality were reduced to nothing beneath the touch of her foot—smooth and soft as if dusted with powder.
If a woman could be that powerful, agile, and beautiful, then what did that make his own mother—a woman with two lumps of rotting flesh for breasts who sucked a dozen cocks of every variety a day—other than a cheap, trashy whore?
And what did that make him? A son-of-a-bitch, a piece of trash, a weakling, a moron, a nigger?
Weakness is the original sin; one only truly understands the taste of it when one becomes the weak party.
In the jungles of northern Myanmar, Tang Lanyan had defeated him time and again. He had lost his arrogance, his confidence, and his will; he was left with only one original arm and had replaced nearly all his internal organs. Defeating Tang Lanyan—trampling her underfoot and ravaging her at will—had become his obsession.
Now, he lived almost solely to defeat her, having installed even more electric-shock organs in his body—yet she dared to ignore him!
The enraged Black man charged forward like a wild bull; the massive black cock between his legs swung wildly, looking almost like an elephant's trunk. Tang Lanyan was unmoved by the man himself, but upon seeing that sight, her eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a look of caution.
She stood her ground as the Black man's ferocious face loomed ever larger before her; his mechanical arm crackled with electricity as he barreled toward her. At the very instant of imminent impact, Tang Lanyan moved. She stepped forward, leaning her body into the motion; her massive, beautiful breasts swayed, sending a bead of sweat flying from a rosy nipple.
She, too, threw a punch. Her arm was snow-white and slender—resembling a tender lotus root rather than the bulging, knotted muscle typical of men. Instead, it possessed smooth, flowing lines and long, lean muscle fibers devoid of any excess, exuding an elegant, athletic beauty akin to a female panther.