[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

Grayson could feel the strain from his secondary gland and quickly stopped pressuring Keres. He could now only follow Keres back as quickly as possible, with his heart sinking.

EEEEEEEE—

The thrusters flared again, but this time, they sounded strained.

Grayson ignored the warning lights on the device and pushed the power to 110%. He had to catch before the zerg caused more trouble for anyone.

But Keres was fast with pure excitement powering his body. His increasing speed seemed to mock the Alpha who chased him.

The basement storage door bore a huge hole with short circuits and electrical sparks all over the place due to Keres’s violent exit.

Keres did not pass by the basement storage room to hurriedly make his escape. He wasn’t looking for a quick exit anymore. He was looking for a place to take him in for a long time.

With a rhythmic thump-thump-thump, Keres passed through the doorway with a grotesque grasshopper-lope. His powerful hind legs launch his massive frame into the shadows of the warehouse-sized room.

The moment his feet touched the dusty concrete, he dropped onto his forelimbs, his weight hitting the floor with a heavy thud-crack.

Keres lunged toward the nearest row of industrial crates, his mandibles clicking in a frantic, hungry rhythm—clack-clack-clack-clack.

Grayson, who came after Keres, did not hesitate to use his alpha pheromones to suppress the zerg again.

"Stay down!" Grayson’s voice was a guttural command that vibrated through the floorboards.

It was indeed effective and made Keres struggle to move.

However, the intensity of his pheromones also affected those who were inside the basement storage room, the unwell Chronos and injured Helena.

Grayson’s heart sank, and his pheromone suppression lessened as he realized this.

Chronos, having a hard time breathing, hurriedly shouted, "DON’T!"

But it was too late.

Keres managed to force himself out of the suppression, and Grayson bore the backlash of the suppression.

SCREEEEEEE!

The high-pitched sound hit a glass-shattering frequency.

With cold sweat dripping down his forehead, Grayson quickly put the thrusters into maximum setting.

The heat was starting to burn his skin, but Grayson didn’t care as long as he could react as fast as this Keres.

The plasma blade on his right hand was swung as fast as he closed the distance. The energy crackling—cr-cr-snap!—and swung with a wide, overhead arc.

Grayson aimed it specifically for the barely healed, wet forelegs of the zerg.

Keres twisted at the last possible microsecond. The blade missed the joint, instead grazing the thick, overlapping plates of his shoulder.

Sssssssst!

The smell of scorched chitin and ozone filled the air instantly. Green blood bubbled up from the wound like overheated syrup, sizzling against the plasma edge.

Keres did not scream, but his mouthparts spread wide in a soundless, terrifying hiss, his secondary eyes glowing a malevolent red.

Then, Keres started throwing things.

It was a frantic, humiliating tactic for a zerg of his standing, but Keres had moved past pride in order to survive.

His powerful forelimbs—crunch!—pried open the lid of the nearest heavy-duty weapons crate as if it were made of cardboard.

Keres began raining its contents, aiming at Grayson’s head, one by one, as fast as possible.

Whirr-clack! Whirr-clack!

First came a volley of plasma cartridges. They were cylindrical, palm-sized canisters that glowed with a faint, volatile blue at their cores.

To drop one was dangerous; to have them thrown at you was a death sentence.

Grayson didn’t break pace. He tilted his blade, his movements sharp.

Schwing! Schwing! Schwing!

He bisected the first three cartridges before they could touch him.

The volatile energy inside was discharged harmlessly into the air, washing the dark basement in three rapid, blinding strobes of cyan light.

Fwash! Fwash! Fwash!

The fourth cartridge whistled toward his throat, but Grayson didn’t cut this one. He reached out with his left hand, snapping shut around the cold metal casing—thwack!

It slid against his palm, the friction burning, but he didn’t flinch. He tucked it into the tactical belt and managed to sneak and get earlier in the pile without losing a single beat of his pace.

"Are you done?" Grayson said with a flat and cold voice.

Keres hissed again, a wet, rhythmic sound—hssss-cht-cht!

He reached into a second crate, pulling out a heavy coil of monofilament wire.

This wasn’t standard rope; it was the high-tensile material used to tow disabled mecha. It was capable of slicing through bone if it moved fast enough.

Keres whipped it forward like a metallic snake.

Grayson’s blade flashed.

Snip!

He cut the coil in midair.

The two severed halves whipped past his ears with a lethal whistle-snap, embedding themselves deep into the concrete wall behind him with a dull thud.

Then, a flashbang suddenly came right into his face.

The pin had already been pulled by Keres’s dexterous mandibles.

Grayson’s pupils constricted. He couldn’t let it detonate in this enclosed space; the reverb alone would liquefy his inner ear.

With a high-speed kick—thump!—he caught the canister on the tip of his boot, redirecting its momentum.

Grayson kicked it so hard that it flew back through the broken door and into the corridor.

BOOM!

The muffled explosion rocked the hallway outside, a white light bleeding through the doorframe.

But Grayson didn’t care about the aftermath of that; he was already moving. Because in the corner of his eyes, Keres was already reaching out for another item to throw his way.

Keres reached for a crate filled with all sorts of items. He opened it, and it was filled with all sorts of blades. He smirked and threw everything at Grayson at once.

Grayson’s eyes sharpened, alert for any cuts he would need to dodge from multiple blades.

Then, he recognized one of the blades that was coming hilt-first. He was sure that that blade was a high-output prototype plasma blade.

Grayson quickly maneuvered his body and reached out to it, his fingers locking around the hilt in midair.

VREEE—

Grayson thumbed the ignition.

Now, with two plasma blades in hand, Grayson crossed the glowing energy into an ’X’ in front of his chest. He ran forward, his boots pounding the floor—stomp-stomp-stomp—confident he could finally end this.