Deathlight

Lower City, Pomo Port.

The harbor waves rolled in one after another, churning up white foam as they crashed against the pockmarked walls to the powerful music playing onshore.

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!"

Gunfire rang out continuously through "Battle of the Reverse," making it feel like a battlefield. Smoke and bullets blasted across the rooftop terrace, kicking dust into the air.

The Russian Gang men and the Severed Hand Gang's Black members, the two gangs in the middle of a deal, were furious beyond measure. A perfectly good transaction had been ruined by some bastard who had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the night, blasting music through speakers.

"Come out! Get the hell out here!"

A Black member of the Severed Hand Gang roared, gripping a cheap AK-47 and spraying an unbroken stream of muzzle flashes toward the source of the music. He riddled the rooftop with holes, sending dust flying everywhere.

"Damn bastard, blow him up!" another Severed Hand Gang member shouted. His subordinate pulled a Mark II grenade, also known as a pineapple grenade, from behind his waist, yanked out the pin, and hurled it toward the rooftop where the music was at its loudest.

As the small pineapple-shaped grenade arced through the sky, a dark, agile figure sprang from the rooftop like a cheetah. Moving with the music, he cleared the alley and landed on the neighboring roof.

Boom!

A huge cloud of dust erupted from the original rooftop. The gang members from both sides narrowed their eyes slightly as the person behind it all was forced into view, then hastily swung their guns around. Their muzzles tracked the black figure as they opened fire one after another.

"Fuck, you brought grenades too!"

Seeing that the Severed Hand Gang had brought such a devastating weapon to a deal, the Russian Gang members could not help roaring, veins bulging in their necks. The gunfire and music were so loud that they had to shout at the top of their lungs for anyone to hear them.

"That bastard has the speakers on him. He's fucking arrogant! Use whatever weapons you have and blow him up!"

The Severed Hand Gang members did not think much of it. So what if they had brought them?

As gangsters, carrying a few grenades for protection was perfectly normal.

"Fuck!"

The Russian Gang could not take it anymore. "Take it out and blow him up!"

A burly Russian kicked over a greasy metal oil drum beside him and pulled an RPG-7 rocket launcher from inside.

The Severed Hand Gang leader kept firing his AK-47. His eyes widened when he saw the Russian Gang produce a rocket launcher, and he could not help cursing them. "Fuck, you even brought out a rocket launcher! What the hell are you Russian bastards trying to do?!"

This was no ordinary weapon. The RPG-7 rocket launcher had a famously glorious record.

In 1993, during America's military operation in Somalia, an African country, to capture the warlord Aidid, Somali militants used RPG launchers to shoot down two Black Hawk helicopters from America's 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment.

The real event was later adapted into the film Black Hawk Down.

It had also become famous during the Chechen War. In one battle, Chechen rebels used SVD rifles and this rocket launcher to reduce a force of one thousand Russian soldiers to only eleven survivors.

That was why even the Severed Hand Gang leader's scalp tingled. He had not expected the Russian Gang to have such a terrifying weapon.

The Russian Gang members did not think much of it. As gangsters, carrying heavy weapons like rocket launchers for protection was perfectly normal!

At once, the Russian man hoisted the rocket launcher onto his shoulder, aimed at a window on the floor below the rooftop, and pulled the trigger. With its tail flame bursting out, the rocket streaked toward the building where the music was playing.

The next instant, a dark, agile figure sprang from the rooftop like a leopard, rapidly crossing several roofs in succession. The rocket-propelled grenade slammed directly into the small building, and a roaring explosion erupted within. Flames engulfed the entire structure, blazing brilliantly into the night sky as shattered stone and dust rained everywhere.

Yet the music on him never stopped.

Wherever the black figure leaped, the music followed. The gunfire followed as well.

The gang members from both sides covered their faces against the debris and dust from the explosion, then continued tracking the black figure with their guns.

Suddenly.

A grenade-like object was tossed from the rooftop, sailing directly over the heads of both gangs.

"Get away! Cover your eyes!"

An experienced gangster roared a warning.

The next moment, the grenade exploded above them. With a bang, a blinding flash lit up all of Pomo Port.

"It's a flashbang!"

"My eyes!"

"My eyes!"

"Don't panic! Get down!"

Many people were blinded by the sudden flash, their vision filled with painful, stinging whiteness. Some instinctively raised their guns and fired wildly, hitting nearby allies and sending them screaming to the ground. Others with more experience dropped flat immediately, avoiding accidental injury from their own side.

The next moment, the music suddenly shifted into an alley. A smoke grenade no larger than half a palm was hurled forcefully from that dark alley where the music played, landing amid the two groups.

Hiss...

The smoke grenade spewed out thick smoke, and the area occupied by the two gangs instantly became a place buried in haze. Only chaotic silhouettes could be seen writhing and crying out within.

Alex emerged from the dark alley, dressed in a black trench coat with a hood over his head and a smooth silver mask covering his face. He held two black Desert Eagles, while Zhang Jie's "Battle of the Reverse" and the system's singing reverberated around him.

"It's you, you bastard!!!"

Seeing someone emerge, the gangsters lying on the ground raised their guns with furious, twisted expressions and opened fire. A stream of bullets shot toward Alex, tracing across the ground at his feet.

Alex stepped forward, and his feet strangely planted themselves against the wall. The hem of his trench coat flared behind him as he raced up the wall. Bullets chased his steps, striking the ground and the wall he had just run across, scattering dust.

Alex held both arms straight out. The twin black Desert Eagles in his hands began spitting fire as he ran along the wall.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The moment Alex stepped onto the wall, time itself seemed to slow. At least in Alex's eyes, their resistance was as sluggish as the movements of three-year-old children.

Alex was not faster than bullets, nor could he dodge them. But the instant they aimed at him, he had more than enough time to evade their muzzles. That made it seem as though Alex could dodge bullets as he ran up the wall.

As the twin Desert Eagles poured out muzzle flashes, every shot hit its mark, piercing into the dense smoke. The ripples cut through the haze by the bullets resembled the bullet trails from The Matrix—beautiful to behold, yet brutally cruel. The bullets that had been following his steps up the wall also stopped, because the people firing them had already been shot dead.

After the twin Desert Eagles had fired all fourteen rounds, Alex flipped through the air from the wall. The guns spun around his index fingers, twirled once, and slipped into the back of his waistband. His black figure landed steadily on the ground, the hem of his trench coat falling still as the eyeholes of his smooth silver mask stared directly into the smoke.

"Battle is where we heroes begin... I will wield my power... Make my presence known..."

The music played by the system still surrounded him.

There were no survivors left. Only the two million dollars from the deal and a crate of white powder remained in the smoke.

He stepped out of the dark alley and, accompanied by the background music, walked toward the smoke that the sea breeze was gradually dispersing.

The petty figures hiding in the darkness began to stir.