Bullets came whistling through the air.
It was as if Lin Qing had not seen the incoming bullets at all. He grabbed a thread and gave his wrist a light flick. Fine ripples surged along the strand like ocean waves under the motion.
Anyone who liked getting up early to exercise had probably seen old men and women practicing with whips in parks.
Setting aside whether they disturbed the peace, whenever they cracked their whips, there would be a sharp, crisp snap.
That was the sonic boom produced when the force traveled to the end of the whip, accelerating its tip beyond the speed of sound.
Lin Qing's faint ripples traveled ring after ring toward the end of the thread. Every ring formed a circle of Golden Spin, and each circle amplified that weak Ripple power severalfold.
Those circles of Golden Spin hovered and coiled around Lin Qing's right arm, extending to the end of the thread before returning to his fingertips.
Bullets flew toward him in rapid succession. Some passed through the body he had turned into threads, while others truly struck Lin Qing, bursting into fine sprays of blood.
Lin Qing did not waver in the slightest.
His terrifying will, hard as steel, was like tank treads crushing straight into Father Pucci's face, utterly shattering his mental defenses.
Father Pucci continued pulling the trigger on instinct. By the time he came to his senses, the magazine had long since been emptied.
The pistol dropped limply from his hand, though his arm remained stiffly raised.
Lin Qing extended a finger.
At that moment, time itself seemed to slow. A wisp of Ripple, having passed through round after round of rotation and continuously strengthened to its limit, reached Lin Qing's fingertip.
Lin Qing's finger touched Father Pucci's.
Emporio stared blankly