Ian’s back had just touched the wall, not yet having time to steady his emotions, when…
Boom!!
A sound wave like an invisible battering ram struck the door panel from straight ahead in the corridor.
The two-inch-thick plywood instantly shattered into four pieces, the door frame tore free from the wall, and the aftershock of the Shockwave lifted Ian from the wall’s edge, slamming him heavily against the desk.
A metallic, bloody taste surged up his throat.
Shattered wood fragments crashed to the floor, and from within the dust, a staggering figure entered.
Shockwave stumbled but steadied himself.
His hands were raised before his chest, palms facing each other, maintaining a posture ready to clap at any moment.
He stood in the doorway, stepping on broken wood chips and the dust brought in from room 401.
“You’re fucking lying to me, aren’t you!” Shockwave said.
His voice carried the fury of someone humiliated.
“You saw those bloodstains earlier, didn’t you?”
Ian didn’t answer.
His right hand had already reached behind his waist, where a claw hammer was tucked.
Before opening the door, he had slipped it behind his belt, hidden beneath the hem of his clothes.
Shockwave took a step forward.
“You saw the blood in 402.
You saw me.
And then you pretended to be a fan and shook my hand.”
Ian raised his hands, signaling no ill intent.
“Wait, don’t get agitated.
I can explain.”
“Explain what?
Speak!
What the hell are you…”
Ian seized the moment when Shockwave’s hands parted due to his emotional agitation—a foreigner’s signature move, feeling unable to speak clearly without some accompanying gestures.
Like a wild dog pouncing from the shadows, Ian’s right hand pulled the claw hammer from behind his waist, his body lowered, and before Shockwave’s last syllable had even landed, he put all his strength into smashing the hammer against Shockwave’s head.
Thud.
The dull sound of metal striking skull.
Shockwave’s head jerked violently to the left, a large portion of it caving in.
White fragments of skull mixed with dark red blood sprayed out, splattering against the wall and onto Ian’s face.
Shockwave’s body slammed into the door frame with a muffled groan.
An ordinary person hit like that would, with luck, suffer a skull fracture and severe concussion; with worse luck, die on the spot.
Shockwave was no ordinary person.
He swayed, steadied himself, blood smearing over his right eye, but his left eye widened enormously, pupils burning with a wilder flame ignited by pain.
“Fuck…” Shockwave raised his left hand, touched the wound on his head, and looked at the blood and bone fragments covering his palm.
Ian gripped the hammer, feeling his heartbeat accelerate, adrenaline surging wildly.
He was just about to strike again when Shockwave’s left fist hit him.
Crack.
The sound of bone breaking was clearly audible.
Though it was a fist, Ian felt as if his right shoulder had been struck by an iron hammer.
Excruciating pain exploded along his nerves, a metallic sweetness rose in his throat, and a mouthful of blood sprayed directly onto Shockwave’s hoodie.
But his hands, the instant the intense pain arrived, clamped tightly onto Shockwave’s right wrist.
Partly to delay his clapping motion, partly—
Skin contact.
The unfinished Duplication from last time, the progress bar surged frantically:
[Re-establishing contact]
[Super Physique LV1]
[94%…96%…98%..]
Shockwave tried to pull his hand back.
He sensed something was wrong.
Ian’s hands clamped onto his wrist bones like steel bars, exerting two hundred percent strength under the influence of adrenaline.
“Let go of me, damn it!” Shockwave roared, his left fist rising once more, this time aimed at Ian’s abdomen.
Ian didn’t dodge.
He didn’t dare to.
His hands were clamped tightly around Shockwave’s wrist, his whole body hanging from the other’s arm like a dead weight.
He could only watch as that fist grew larger in his vision.
97%…
98%…
Shockwave’s left fist slammed into Ian’s left rib.
Ian spat out another mouthful of blood, this time mixed with foam.
His vision began to darken, a ringing filled his ears, but he didn’t let go.
99%…
Enraged, Shockwave abandoned his fists.
He raised his knee, driving a vicious knee strike toward Ian’s abdomen.
At that very instant—
[Duplication Progress: 100%]
A surge of scalding heat erupted from within Ian.
His heart contracted violently, then beat with renewed, stronger force, pumping blood at twice the previous speed.
An intense, numbing itch spread from the fractured bone in his right shoulder as muscle density reorganized beneath the skin, the microscopic structure of his bones forcibly compacted.
LV1 Super Physique.
Acquired.
Shockwave’s knee strike connected with Ian’s abdomen, but this time, Ian’s abdominal muscles tensed like a taut rubber pad, dispersing, absorbing, and digesting the impact.
It still hurt, but the pain was no longer life-threatening.
It was a dull, bearable ache that could be transformed into rage.
Shockwave sensed the change.
He felt the grip on his wrist surge in strength, shifting from the desperate struggle of a “drowning man” to the “steel trap” of a hunter.
He saw Ian raise his head.
The panic was gone from that face, replaced only by a cold, focused intensity that sent a chill down his spine.
“You—” Shockwave’s words were cut short.
Ian moved.
He released one hand, his left clamping down like a vise on Shockwave’s right wrist, preventing him from pulling back or clapping to release sound waves.
With his right hand, in the half-second Shockwave was stunned, Ian snatched up the hammer from the ground.
Shockwave’s left fist came crashing down again.
Ian didn’t block.
Gripping the hammer, he swung it precisely to meet that incoming fist.
Crack.
The sound of metal hammerhead meeting finger bones was like a snapping branch amplified tenfold.
Shockwave’s index and middle fingers bent backward at an anatomically impossible angle, skin tearing, white bone fragments piercing through flesh and blood, exposed to the air.
His ring and pinky fingers hung limp, like marionettes with severed strings.
A scream that sounded nothing human tore from Shockwave’s throat.
His body instinctively arched backward, trying to create distance.
But Ian gave him no chance.
His left hand remained locked on Shockwave’s right wrist, forcibly holding his body in place.
His right hand raised the hammer, its head now smeared with Shockwave’s blood and shredded flesh.
The first hammer blow landed on Shockwave’s head.
Thud.
Shockwave’s scream cut off abruptly, replaced by a gurgling moan.
His knees buckled.
The second blow struck the same spot.
Thud.
The sound of a skull caving in.
Shockwave’s body went limp like a sack of sand, slumping forward, his forehead resting against Ian’s shoulder.
The third blow.
Thud.
Blood and something thicker splattered onto Ian’s neck and collarbone, warm and reeking of iron.
The fourth blow.
Thud.
Bloodstains.
Shockwave went completely still.
His body slid off Ian’s shoulder and collapsed onto the ground.
His hoodie was soaked through with blood, spreading a dark stain across the concrete.
Ian stood there, hammer in his right hand.
His shoulders heaved, his body trembled—a reaction to the adrenaline crash.
A dull ache throbbed in his left ribs and right shoulder, but that pain was now suppressed by something far more powerful: the savage vitality brought by his LV1 Super Physique.
He looked down at Shockwave’s corpse.
Ian did not vomit.
He did not tremble.
He did not look away.
Outside the window, beneath the Queens night sky, came the screech of tires and the wail of sirens—at least three vehicles.
Ian slowly rose to his feet, switched the hammer to his left hand, and walked to the window.
Peering through a gap in the curtains, he looked outside.
Three black SUVs were parked downstairs.
They had arrived far too “quickly.”