FT DR Chapter 135: Born For Each Other

Chapter 135: Born For Each Other

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

The precarious ruins of the starship loomed. The oxygen system struggled to maintain a breathable atmosphere, with occasional gusts of hot wind blowing through the damaged hull, filling the air with a choking stench. The gravity system was still functioning, but it made Mu’s movements extremely difficult.

Mu’s left leg was injured, making it hard to walk even on flat surfaces. Navigating the rugged terrain of the wreckage was nearly impossible. He forced himself to climb over the collapsed metal walls, dragging his injured leg until he reached a broken ventilation duct. One end of the duct was still connected to a fan, while the other end had fallen onto the turbine of the cooling system, where Jin Zhe was trapped between the turbine blades.

“Jin Zhe!” Mu grabbed the duct with both hands, leaning out to shout Jin Zhe’s name. Only the noise of the machinery answered him. Exhausted from the long journey, his fingers barely clung to the indentations in the duct. He panted heavily, suddenly hearing a hoarse roar amidst the cacophony—that was Jin Zhe’s mania-induced scream!

“Jin Zhe!” Mu yelled again, closing his eyes and letting go of the duct. He slid down the nearly vertical duct towards the turbine.

The rough surface of the duct tore at his thin clothing; his shirt soon ripped, and his skin scraped against the metal, burning and stinging. His pants were also torn by protruding rivets, and his unhealed wounds seared as they contacted the hot metal. He gritted his teeth against the pain and crashed onto one of the large turbine blades, his organs churning from the impact.

“Hiss…” Mu couldn’t help but gasp, but the ordeal wasn’t over. The blade was tilted, and the momentum sent him sliding towards the power source below.

“Ah!” Mu screamed, flailing and finally grabbing a raised metal piece at the blade’s edge. Though his palm was cut, he managed to stop his fall, lying flat on the blade. The turbine turned half a revolution and stopped. He cautiously stood up, finding the surroundings pitch-dark. Unable to see, he closed his eyes and used his mental awareness to search for Jin Zhe.

“Roar!” A familiar roar came from behind him. 

Overjoyed, Mu turned sharply, “Jin Zhe!”

A massive Barbary lion leapt towards him, its eyes glowing red, a faint red mist seeping from the corners, staining its fur like blood. The lion was clearly exhausted, collapsing onto a nearby motor with a pitiful howl, “Whimper…howl…”

“Jin Zhe! Jin Zhe, is it you? Where are you? Answer me!” Mu crawled off the blade, dragging his injured leg past the motor to a small flat area by the engine room. Using his mental awareness, he “saw” a faint light moving near a corner, likely Jin Zhe.

“Jin Zhe?” Mu softly called out, hesitating to approach. Judging by the Barbary lion’s state, Jin Zhe’s mania was severe. If he couldn’t control it, Mu might be accidentally killed—the sentinel’s power was terrifying, and a guide’s body was no match.

The shadow in the corner shifted, red eyes slowly opening, flickering like hellfire as they turned towards him.

“Jin…” Mu cautiously moved towards him, calling his name. Suddenly, Jin Zhe let out a beast-like roar, “Roar!” and lunged at Mu with great force.

Mu couldn’t retreat; he stood at the edge of a metal platform, a step back would mean falling into the burning power source below. He couldn’t dodge either, fearing Jin Zhe might fall off in his mania. In a split second, without time to think, he stepped forward, bracing himself to block Jin Zhe’s charge.

With a loud crash, Mu fell backward, his spine making a painful creaking sound. Jin Zhe’s massive body pinned him down, nearly squeezing all the air from his lungs.

The suffocating sensation overwhelmed Mu’s consciousness. He managed to lift Jin Zhe’s body with trembling arms, catching his breath. Ignoring the pain in his back, he croaked, “It’s okay, it’s okay…” He wrapped his arms tightly around Jin Zhe’s burning body.

Through his clothes, Mu felt Jin Zhe’s heart pounding frantically, a sign of severe mania. He must have been seriously injured. Where was the wound? Mu felt Jin Zhe’s right arm, and unlike his fevered body, it was noticeably cooler, suggesting poor blood circulation. Mu found his right hand and squeezed it, but there was no response. His heart sank—his arm was severed.

Mu’s gentle probing caused Jin Zhe sharp pain, making him roar in agitation. He grabbed Mu’s shoulder with his left hand and slammed him onto the ground with a thud.

Mu’s back throbbed with pain, and his chest felt tight. He struggled to push against Jin Zhe’s chest with both hands, saying, “Don’t move, calm down, Jin Zhe, it’s me, Mu. I will save you.”

He infused his voice with a hint of suggestion, though such suggestions had little effect on a sentinel in severe mania, it was better than nothing. As expected, Jin Zhe calmed slightly upon hearing his words, though his breath was still heavy, his grip on Mu’s shoulder relaxed a bit.

“Don’t be afraid, I will save you…” Mu gently reassured Jin Zhe, confessing his feelings in the darkness. “I won’t let you die like this. You are the king of the Federation, the greatest man in the world. Even if you die, it should be with dignity.”

Jin Zhe made a guttural sound, torn between his human and animal instincts. Mu reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the sharp, chiseled contours of his face, his voice choking with emotion. “I’m sorry, I’ve hurt you twice. Every time we meet, it’s always in such dire circumstances. I’m sorry…”

Intense guide pheromones wafted from Mu’s body; this time, he did not suppress his instincts, allowing himself to invite his perfectly compatible sentinel for a bonding mark.

In the darkness, Mu could smell the sweet, shameful scent from his body. It had been fifty-four years, and during his few estrus periods, his desire was always the same man. He recalled that thirty-five years ago, in that pitch-black cave, Jin Zhe was also pressing against him, chest to chest. He had been only eighteen then, and now, they were at the end of their lives.

Jin Zhe’s breath became more rapid, and his body, reeking of blood, emitted faint sentinel pheromones. He had lost too much blood and was too weak. Even though Mu was giving his all in courtship, Jin Zhe could only respond faintly.

But that was enough. In the boundless darkness, their pheromones met, collided, and fused in the polluted air, gradually releasing an intoxicating scent. Soon, the bonding heat was maximally activated, slowly enveloping them.

Jin Zhe’s nasal passages emitted a content yet frustrated purr like a large cat. Mu smiled through his tears, guiding Jin Zhe’s nearly numb right hand to his cheek, moving it downwards, and lifting his neck to press against his Adam’s apple.

The instinct to mark instantly took over Jin Zhe’s will. Unconsciously, he lowered his head and held Mu’s Adam’s apple in his mouth, his tongue gently licking the cool skin, letting his saliva seep into Mu’s pores, marking his body with his scent. The bonding heat exploded around them, Jin Zhe’s breath quickened, his heartbeat raced. Unsatisfied with just this touch, he began to bite Mu’s skin, like a predator hunting its prey, tightening his jaws on Mu’s throat.

Mu let out a weak moan as Jin Zhe’s canines broke his skin, piercing a blood vessel. Warm blood trickled from his body, seeping into Jin Zhe’s mouth and throat.

Fear crept in from the pain and blood loss, but Mu dared not stop Jin Zhe. Interrupting a sentinel’s marking was extremely dangerous; it could lead to his death. He could only use the newly established weak empathy link to repeatedly suggest to Jin Zhe, “Relax, relax… You’re hurting me, you might kill me… I am your guide, please protect me…”

The empathy link was too weak, too feeble. Mu couldn’t extinguish the fire in Jin Zhe’s mind with his mental tendrils, only temporarily soothe his emotions to prevent immediate madness and violence. Jin Zhe was too old, his mania too severe. Only the powerful link of a final marking could fully heal his wounds.

“Mark me, I am yours,” Mu pleaded through their mental connection, “I am your guide, I have waited for you for thirty-five years…”

Jin Zhe stopped biting, withdrawing his teeth from Mu’s blood vessel, his red eyes confusedly gazing at his face. In the surrounding darkness, Mu couldn’t see Jin Zhe’s face, but he knew Jin Zhe could see him. He placed Jin Zhe’s intact left hand on his left chest, signaling his submission, “I swear, I will never hurt you again, never avoid you, never leave you. I will always follow you, care for you, comfort you.”

Even if our “future” is only a few minutes long, even if our “forever” is about to end in the final moments of our lives.

Thirty-five years of love and waiting, the sentinel’s desire, and a man’s instinct… Amidst his severe mania, Jin Zhe briefly regained his sanity and, with great difficulty but unwavering determination, marked his beloved guide with a lifelong bond.

The shattered ruins, the stifling power center, the starship’s battered hull intermittently struck by artillery, creating deafening explosions. The debris trembled, the ground shook, and the turbine blades wobbled, with the central axis emitting a strained “creak.” Mu’s stifled moans were drowned out by the cacophony, and his Icarus butterfly, flitting in the polluted air, found the Barbary lion slumped on the motor. It spread its wings and settled before it, invoking the unique spiritual resonance between quantum beasts to request a spiritual bond.

The Barbary lion struggled to lift its head, its blood-red eyes staring at the pristine, crystalline Icarus butterfly. The butterfly’s pure color, as brilliant as the dawn, exuded vibrant energy. The mental energy it had accumulated over fifty years was vast as the ocean, calm as a glacier, gently infiltrating the Barbary lion’s spiritual world, soothing its agitated soul and narrating thirty-five years of longing and admiration.

The red haze in the lion’s eyes gradually dissipated, its fierce gaze softened, tenderly regarding its dedicated spiritual guide, and cautiously extending a paw to touch the delicate sprite. The Icarus butterfly fluttered its wings, circling intimately around the lion’s head before finally resting quietly on its ear.

The starship wreckage endured its final assault and fell silent, the bombardment outside ceasing as if all enemies had vanished. Deep within the wreckage, the fire at the power source blazed hotter, tiny flames emerging from the cracks in the metal floor, casting intermittent red light in the dark space.

On the platform, the lifelong bond between the sentinel and guide was complete. Jin Zhe, having lost too much blood, was exhausted. As the lust faded, the mania returned. Mu, still aching from Jin Zhe’s earlier roughness, stretched out his mental tendrils, using the newly established strong bond to gently but precisely extinguish the mania in Jin Zhe’s mind.

Gradually, the red haze cleared from Jin Zhe’s eyes, and his black pupils stared blankly at Mu’s sweat-covered face. In the dim firelight, the face he had longed to see for thirty-five years was as clear as a dream. He didn’t dare to blink, fearing he might wake up.

“Jin Zhe.” Mu’s voice was hoarse but filled with the joy of understanding life and death.

“It’s really you…” Jin Zhe was overwhelmed with emotion, his blood surging. He managed to say these words before suddenly fainting onto Mu’s chest.

Mu’s chest ached from the impact of Jin Zhe’s weight, but after the pain, he couldn’t help but laugh softly. He gently stroked Jin Zhe’s coarse hair, took a deep breath, and moved him to his side.

His waist was killing him, his thighs hurt so much they could barely close, not to mention… Mu grimaced for a long time before fixing his torn clothes, then crawled up to kneel beside Jin Zhe. In the increasing brightness of the flames, he finally saw the extent of Jin Zhe’s arm injury: a wound caused by a powerful slash, with muscles, bones, and tendons severed, and blood lost in unknown quantities. Fortunately, Jin Zhe was a strong sentinel with a good body and strong self-healing abilities, which had prevented him from dying from excessive blood loss.

Amputation was inevitable. In such a poor environment, with such severe injuries, the limb couldn’t be saved. Mu’s heart ached, but as a doctor, he had to make the right decision immediately. Allowing Jin Zhe to drag his arm any longer could be fatal… Given their current situation, this seemed unavoidable.

But Mu was still Mu. Even in the most critical situations, he could remain calm and do his best until the last moment, which was the fundamental ethic of a doctor.

The artillery outside had stopped, indicating that the presidential fleet had left. With the starship in such a state, the rescue fleet had also departed, and the enemies wouldn’t come back to search for survivors. They would send probes and search robots for data and chips once the oxygen ran out and the fire was extinguished. So, they had a few hours to turn things around… Mu figured everything out, stood up, and climbed the metal ladder to the power compartment’s workspace with his injured leg.

It was a small room, only about twenty square meters, with sufficient oxygen and intact facilities because the crew had sealed it well before evacuating. Mu opened the medical cabinet and was lucky to find the treatment kit intact. After some hesitation, he decided to bring Jin Zhe up here for surgery. The environment below was too poor, with insufficient oxygen, high temperatures, and pervasive dust and toxic gasses.

But how could he carry a man almost twice his weight up two flights of stairs?

Just as Mu was feeling helpless, the starship wreckage shook, and he noticed the gravity was decreasing!

The gravity simulation system must have malfunctioned! Mu had never been so grateful for the ship’s rapid deterioration. He hopped down the metal ladder with his injured leg and waited about three minutes until the gravitational acceleration dropped to about half of its previous level. Then he immediately carried Jin Zhe’s heavy body on his back, step by step, up to the power compartment’s workspace.

Under the bright lights, Mu finally saw the full extent of Jin Zhe’s injuries. Jin Zhe’s face was as white as a corpse, his severed arm a ghastly blue-gray, with most of his blood likely drained. Only his heart was still faintly beating.

He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, Mu kept telling himself. He used scissors to cut off Jin Zhe’s tattered shirt, washing the blood off his upper body with copious amounts of saline solution. Then he took out the anesthetic from the treatment kit and injected it into the wound.

For such injuries, ordinary anesthetics wouldn’t suffice. Ideally, it should be deep anesthesia or at least epidural anesthesia, but Mu had no additional drugs. He could only rely on Jin Zhe’s endurance—the strong life force of a sentinel. Given Jin Zhe’s age, with a guide, he was still in his prime, with peak physical fitness.

Mu hooked up the plasma substitute and began the surgery. He needed to amputate Jin Zhe’s entire right arm from the shoulder joint, handle the broken bones, tendons, and blood vessels, and prepare the best possible interface for future bio-mechanical arm attachment. He didn’t know if they would survive the next hour, but he knew he had to protect his sentinel to the best of his ability in every second, every minute.

Without assistants, instruments, or even basic shadowless lighting, Mu relied solely on his exceptional experience and intuition to work meticulously on Jin Zhe’s severed arm. No matter how afraid or excited he was before, standing at the operating table immediately restored him to the calm, decisive Dean of the medical school. He dismissed the discomfort in his body, the dull pain in his left leg, focusing all his attention on Jin Zhe’s arms, valued at seventy million federation credits.

Severing, suturing, cleaning… Mu meticulously handled Jin Zhe’s wounds like a microsculptor. Half an hour later, he breathed a long sigh of relief, completing the procedure perfectly.

Jin Zhe’s right arm had been completely amputated. Mu wiped the sweat from his forehead, gently caressing the arm that had embraced him thirty-five years ago. From now on, Jin Zhe would lose this hand, only able to use the other to embrace him, to touch him… if they had a future together.

Mu felt a bitter pang in his heart but comforted himself that at least he had saved Jin Zhe’s life. He checked Jin Zhe’s blood pressure, removed the plasma substitute, and brought a chair, intending to sit down. However, even with half the gravity, sitting was difficult for him, so he lay down next to Jin Zhe, gently holding his intact left hand.

Too tired, too exhausted, Mu smelled Jin Zhe’s familiar scent, unable to resist dozing off. When he woke up, he found a pair of dark eyes staring at him—Jin Zhe was awake.

“You’re awake!” Mu was pleasantly surprised, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “Does the wound hurt? Why didn’t you wake me…” As he spoke, he opened the treatment kit and took out a painkiller, intending to inject it.

Jin Zhe opened his mouth, but his voice was too hoarse to speak. Without hesitation, he used their consciousness link. [No, it doesn’t hurt.]

Mu was taken aback, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the sensation of someone speaking in his mind. Then, he gently pushed a painkiller injection into Jin Zhe’s neck and fed him some glucose with a clean syringe. He said, “The pain will last a few days, and bone pain is the hardest to bear. It’s better to use some painkillers. Don’t worry, I’ll control the dosage so you won’t get addicted.”

Jin Zhe stared at him without blinking, his eyes following Mu’s movements. He had a dreamlike expression, as if he couldn’t believe this was real, until his gaze fell on his severed arm, and his expression changed slightly.

“The wound is too big, and there are no instruments or medications here. I couldn’t reattach it.” Mu gently held Jin Zhe’s left hand, soothingly rubbing his palm. “But don’t worry, I handled the wound well. In the future, when you get a bio-mechanical arm, it won’t affect your life.”

Jin Zhe looked into his eyes, his gaze gradually softening with affection. After a long time, he finally managed to say in a hoarse voice, “It’s ugly.”

The wound was less than ten centimeters from his shoulder, and having seen numerous surgical patients, Mu didn’t think there was anything ugly about it. However, as his gaze swept over Jin Zhe’s strong chest muscles, well-defined abdominal muscles, and long, powerful left arm, he realized how regrettable it was for him to lose a hand—his physique was too perfect, even in middle age, still remarkably impressive.

Thinking about how just minutes ago this perfect body had marked him, Mu inexplicably blushed and lowered his eyes, softly saying, “No, it’s not.”

A weak smile spread across Jin Zhe’s resolute lips. He slowly curled his five fingers around Mu’s slender hand, holding it tightly in his palm. His throat choked up for a moment before he managed to say, “I feel so alive.”

A surge of warmth rose in Mu’s chest, making it difficult for him to speak. After a long time, he managed to suppress the stinging in his eyes and hoarsely replied, “Me too.”

They gazed at each other in silence, no need for words. Even their mental link felt redundant at that moment. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes and read the most genuine sentiments in their hearts.

“I will get you out of here,” Jin Zhe suddenly said.

Mu was taken aback, though he felt Jin Zhe was probably just comforting him. Still, he nodded with utmost trust.

The two exchanged smiles, each having prepared themselves to sacrifice for the other. But after the lifelong bond, they felt united as one, filled with courage and strength amidst the life-threatening situation, glimpsing a ray of hope in the darkness.

 

 

 

 

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