In the empty underground meat processing plant, the dead silence was broken.
“What the hell are you?!”
The burly leader roared.
He took a sharp step back and raised the micro submachine gun in his hand.
Inside the iron cage.
Kimiko was curled up in the corner, covered in wounds.
She raised her head, her eyes staring fixedly at Lucas through her messy black hair.
There was no joy of being rescued, only the extreme vigilance of a beast encountering another unknown predator.
A threatening growl rumbled in her throat.
She shrank back, her blood-stained fingers digging tightly into the wire mesh on the ground.
She didn’t trust anyone.
This man who had suddenly appeared and snapped the iron chains made her feel more dangerous than the gangsters with electric batons.
Lucas glanced at her.
His gaze was cold.
He ignored her hostility.
He turned his head, strode forward, and walked straight toward the four gangsters.
“Fire!
Kill him!”
The leader ordered at the top of his lungs.
“Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—”
Four micro submachine guns spat out dazzling tongues of fire simultaneously.
The dense rain of bullets tore through the air, forming a net of death that instantly enveloped Lucas.
Lucas did not dodge.
He walked forward, facing the hail of bullets.
Bullets poured onto his chest, abdomen, and face like a rainstorm.
“Clang, clang, clang—”
The worn-out jacket, which was automatically repaired by the system, was instantly torn into rags and scattered like butterflies.
But the scene beneath the jacket made all the gangsters’ scalps tingle.
No flesh flying.
No screaming and falling to the ground.
The gleaming brass bullet heads spun at high speed, striking Lucas’s skin.
That layer of seemingly ordinary skin displayed the terrifying hardness of the Carbyne Heavy Armor at this moment.
The bullet heads instantly flattened into copper discs.
Sparks flew everywhere.
Countless deformed bullet heads lost their kinetic energy and clattered onto the concrete floor like raindrops.
Lucas didn’t even frown.
The impact of the bullets was perfectly absorbed by the heavy armor.
It was as if he were standing in a painless iron rain.
“This is impossible!”
A gangster widened his eyes, his finger locking onto the trigger until the magazine was empty, emitting a “click-click” sound of the bolt locking back.
Lucas moved.
His speed of 55 points erupted instantly.
The concrete floor under his feet was stomped into a shallow pit.
He transformed into a blurred afterimage, instantly crossing more than ten meters to charge into the middle of the four men.
Too fast.
An ordinary person’s dynamic vision couldn’t catch him at all.
“Snap.”
A crisp sound of bone breaking.
Lucas’s palm, like an iron pincer, tightly gripped a gangster’s neck.
He exerted force on his wrist and twisted sharply.
The man’s head turned a weird 180 degrees, his cervical spine completely shattered.
The corpse collapsed limply.
“Monster!
Another burly man nearby drew a tactical knife from his waist and frantically stabbed at Lucas’s temple.
Lucas did not dodge or evade.
“Ding.”
The tip of the steel-forged knife stabbed into the skin of his temple, emitting a crisp sound, and snapped off directly.
Lucas backhanded the burly man across the face.
45 points of strength combined with a palm as hard as carbyne.
“Bang!”
The burly man’s half-face bone collapsed directly, and his eyeball was squeezed out of its socket by the immense pressure.
He flew seven or eight meters away like a kite with a broken string, crashed heavily into the wall, slid down, and stopped making any sound.
In less than three seconds.
Four people, two dead.
The remaining two gangsters completely broke down.
“Ahhhhh!”
One of them, terrified, threw away his gun and turned to run.
Lucas didn’t even look at him; he flicked a micro submachine gun up from the ground with his toe and kicked it casually.
The heavy firearm flew out like a cannonball, accurately smashing into the runner’s back of the head.
The sound of a skull fracturing rang out; the man fell to the ground, twitched twice, and stopped moving.
Only the leader remained.
He didn’t run.
He knew he couldn’t escape.
Extreme fear twisted his face, plunging him into total madness.
He scrambled toward a rectangular wooden crate in the corner.
He flipped the lid open.
Inside lay an RPG-7 rocket launcher.
This was their trump card prepared to deal with the fire-breathing monster of the Russian Mafia.
The leader’s eyes were bloodshot; he hoisted the RPG, ignoring the fact that firing at such close range might affect himself, and aimed the sight directly at Lucas.
Maybe it’s not a big deal now… maybe it will be later.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”