Matt exerted force in his legs, leaping wildly between the shipping containers like a dark red bat.
At the top of the crane.
Frank’s crosshairs had locked onto his target.
The center of the crosshairs was aimed at the fuse of the high-explosive grenade crate.
His index finger tightened.
“Whoosh—!”
An extremely sharp whistling sound suddenly came from the right!
Frank’s tactical instincts, honed by years of living on the edge of life and death, screamed a warning.
He didn’t turn his head.
He jerked his neck to the left.
“Clang!”
A dark red alloy baton, carrying terrifying kinetic energy, smashed heavily against the barrel of his M24 sniper rifle.
Sparks flew everywhere.
The barrel was knocked violently off course.
“Bang!” The massive gunshot tore through the sea mist, and the large-caliber bullet grazed the shipping container below, blowing out the tire of a forklift.
The gangsters unloading cargo below were thrown into instant chaos.
“Enemy attack!
Take cover!” the bald leader roared, and dozens of automatic rifles were raised in an instant.
On the crane.
Frank shoved the useless sniper rifle aside and spun around violently.
By the faint moonlight, he made out the man crouching on the steel beam, wearing a dark red hood.
“Daredevil.”
Frank’s voice was hoarse, carrying a heavy scent of gunpowder.
He backhanded a modified M1911 pistol from the tactical holster on his thigh, pointing the muzzle directly at Matt.
“You’ve crossed the line, Frank.”
Matt stood up, catching the rebounding alloy baton with his right hand.
“There are high-explosive munitions down there.
That shot of yours would blow half the dock sky-high, and civilians on the perimeter would die.”
“Civilians?
I only see a bunch of damn scum.”
Frank sneered, his thumb flicking off the safety.
“I’m not interested in playing your game of sending people to jail only to watch them pay bail and walk free.
Get lost.”
“As long as I’m here, you won’t kill anyone.”
Matt gripped his baton tightly, lowering his center of gravity.
“Then I’ll slaughter you along with them.”
Without another word, Frank raised his hand and fired three shots.
“Bang!
Bang!
Bang!”
The triangular trajectory sealed off all of Matt’s escape routes.
But Matt’s super senses had already predicted the trajectory the moment Frank’s muscles tensed.
He twisted his body like a phantom, his alloy baton carving several afterimages in the air.
“Clang, clang, clang!”
The three bullets were deflected with precision, grazing Matt’s shoulder and flying into the thick fog.
Frank frowned slightly, but his movements didn’t pause for a second.
He knew well that against an agile opponent like this, creating distance was suicide.
He lunged forward, using the momentum of the sprint, his right leg sweeping toward Matt’s ribs like a battle-axe.
Matt didn’t block it head-on.
He could hear the terrifying power contained in that kick.
He leaned back, bracing one hand on the beam, and swung his right foot upward, aiming straight for Frank’s chin.
Frank pressed his left arm down, forcefully blocking the kick.
The massive Impact forced them both to step back half a pace.
A hundred meters in the air, on a narrow steel beam.
A single mistake meant death.
Neither paused, crashing into each other again.
Frank’s combat style was filled with the ruthlessness and lethality of a soldier, every strike aimed at the throat, joints, or eyes.
He didn’t need flashy techniques; he only needed to neutralize the enemy as quickly as possible.
Matt’s combat style, however, was filled with artistic precision.
The sticky strikes of Wing Chun, the rapid-fire combos of Filipino Kali.
With his eyes closed, relying only on his hearing and the flow of air, he could perfectly track every one of Frank’s attacks.
“Bang!”
Frank punched Matt in the chest; Matt grunted, backhanding a strike with his baton into Frank’s shoulder.
The two passed each other.
“You can’t save that scum.”
Frank wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes growing increasingly crazed.
“The tumors of this city must be burned away with the fire of sin!”
“This isn’t justice!
You’re just venting your personal vendetta!”
Matt panted, his fingers gripping the baton turning white from the effort.
“Justice?”
Frank laughed, his laughter filled with endless sorrow and coldness.
“When my family was gunned down, where was your justice?!”
Before the words had even faded, Frank yanked a high-explosive grenade from his belt and pulled the pin with his teeth.
Without hesitation, he threw it directly at the shipping container below, which was packed with munitions.
“Madman!”
Matt’s eyes widened in fury.
He didn’t hesitate to leap from the hundred-meter-high crane, like a moth to a flame, diving straight for the falling grenade.
Frank stood on the beam, watching the scene coldly as he pulled out a new magazine and slammed it into the chamber.
“Click.”
The faint sound of the mechanical fuse popping open was like a thunderclap in Matt’s ears.
Thirty meters from the sea surface.
Twenty meters.
Fifteen meters.
Matt exerted force in his core, forcibly twisting his body in mid-air.
His arm muscles bulged, and the alloy baton that had accompanied him through countless blood-soaked nights flew from his hand.
A shrill whistling sound tore through the sea mist.
“Clang!”
An extremely precise metallic Impact.
The alloy baton smashed heavily into the tail of the high-explosive grenade just ten meters above the sea surface.
“Boom—!”
A violent, orange-red fireball expanded thunderously in mid-air.
A terrifying shockwave, carrying tons of seawater, poured down like a torrential rain.
The gangsters unloading cargo below were bowled over by the shockwave like bowling pins, and the shipping containers groaned with the teeth-gritting sound of twisting metal.
It didn’t reach the civilian area.
The fuse had been cut short.
Frank looked down at the firelight coldly.
A look of utter contempt curled his lips.
“Soft-hearted.”
He spat, and without hesitation, hooked his tactical gloves onto the steel cable.
With a push of his legs, he slid rapidly down the cable like a giant black bat.
The harsh sound of friction stretched out into the night.
Landing, he transitioned into a textbook tactical roll, shedding his momentum.
Frank drew the M1911 from his thigh, holding the muzzle level; like a cold, unfeeling killing machine, he headed straight for Core Warehouse 47 deep in the docks.
His goal was clear: blow the heavy munitions and high-purity drugs leaked from Stark Industries, along with the scum guarding them, into ashes.
Matt leaped gracefully from the top of the container, catching the rebounding baton.
He followed close behind.
He had to find the ledger of Kingpin’s smuggling operation before Frank turned this place into a slaughterhouse.
The two of them, one after the other, kicked open the ajar corrugated metal door and charged into the dim Warehouse 47.
The interior of the warehouse was massive, stacked with wooden crates reaching the ceiling, the air thick with the mixed scent of machine oil, desiccant, and cheap tobacco.
Silence.
Too quiet.
Matt’s footsteps suddenly halted, his dark red hood tilting slightly.
His ears twitched almost imperceptibly.
His super hearing instantly pierced through the chaotic ambient noise, filtering out the sound of the wind, the waves, and the distant wail of sirens.
He caught the sound of heartbeats.
Dozens of heartbeats.
Hiding high up behind the shipping containers.
But what made the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stand up wasn’t the numbers.
It was the heartbeat directly in front, behind a pile of munitions crates.
Extremely slow.
Cold.
There wasn’t a shred of panic at the surprise attack; instead, it radiated a thick, nauseating, pure lust for slaughter.
Like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
“Frank, retreat!”
Matt roared, his muscles instantly tensing to their limit.
“It’s a trap!”
Too late.
“Pop!
Pop!
Pop!”
The screeching sound of an electrical overload exploded across the top of the vast warehouse.
Dozens of industrial-grade, high-power searchlights turned on simultaneously without warning!
This wasn’t ordinary lighting at all.
This was tactical-grade blinding light!
“Aah—!”
Matt let out a stifled scream.
Although the bright light couldn’t sting his already blind eyes, the piercing, high-frequency electrical hum produced when those dozens of high-power searchlights activated instantly shattered his super hearing!
His brain felt as if it were being pierced by tens of thousands of red-hot needles at once; his 3D radar map collapsed instantly, dissolving into a chaotic static.
Matt fell to his knees in agony, clutching his ears tightly, his nails nearly digging into his scalp.
Sensory overload—this was his most fatal weakness.
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