Holy Light

People's morale collapsed into chaos, the entire underground parking lot a mess of panic. Fear was a deadly virus, spreading endlessly as people collided with each other, cursing loudly to bolster their courage, desperate to find somewhere to hide.

Except for a few, no one bothered to block the path anymore. The scenes just moments ago had become their eternal nightmare. If the enemy were merely powerful, it would be bearable—just a one-sided slaughter. But this mutant's abilities were bizarre, unheard of, like something out of a demon's playbook. His creation ability only existed in myths and legends.

That was Divine Authority.

They were afraid, genuinely terrified. They were only mortals, and they couldn't allow themselves to stand against someone so godlike. At least until this mutant's abilities were fully understood and deciphered, they wouldn't face him again.

The roar of an engine faded into the distance, suggesting the mutant's motorcycle was top-notch.

The Skinny Man, who had miraculously survived, struggled a few times before forcing himself up. Staring at the retreating figure, his mind was unsettled—he'd nearly died.

Then, struck by another flash of inspiration, he leaped up, raising his weapon above his head, startling everyone around him.

"Another fool who thinks victory's in the bag?" people muttered.

The Skinny Man's face turned serious. He took a deep breath, looked up, and roared: "I did it! I drove the enemy off! He fled in panic from my beating—we won!"

A Holy Light rose around the Skinny Man.

For some reason, a few people seemed enveloped by that Holy Light, stepping forward excitedly to join his roar, as if they'd just won a grueling, epic battle, draped in glory and immortalized in history.

The Skinny Man was smug, applauding his own cleverness. He swaggered and shouted at Donnie's retreating back: "Coward! Come on, I'll fight you with one hand tied behind my back—three hundred rounds!"

Everyone was speechless. How could this Skinny Man spout such shameless nonsense with such a clear conscience?

"I just wasn't trying earlier. What Level 4 or Level 3 enemies? Three moves tops, and I'd take them down easily! He just ran too fast for me to catch. See, I really don't have a vehicle," the Skinny Man said.

Some in the crowd with a shred of decency couldn't take it anymore. They jumped out and kicked the Skinny Man over. Too embarrassing. Who knew how many big shots were watching? How did their team end up with such a freak?

They felt utterly ashamed, too mortified to show their faces. Stealing credit didn't work like this.

The Skinny Man wanted to keep shouting and provoking, to show off his bravery, until he saw the Mini-Transformer appear silently in front of him. He shut up immediately.

No one spoke, trembling like they were walking on thin ice. The entire parking lot seemed frozen, dead silent.

The Skinny Man was on the verge of tears, all his big talk choked back in his throat.

Why hadn't this little monster left yet?! Its master was long gone! Right, that mutant must have done this on purpose! He deliberately left it here to watch them!

What a sneaky bastard!

The Skinny Man fumed, staring straight at the Mini-Transformer... then forced a fawning expression, looking at it with sycophantic eyes. The look was so vivid that anyone would think it was genuine.

Many big shots and hackers watching through the cameras nearly fainted, utterly speechless. Where did this freak come from? They asked around who had recruited this guy—enough was enough.

With a series of clattering sounds, the Skinny Man was beaten black and blue, sitting on the ground as the Mini-Transformer hopped around, pummeling him until he had no fight left.

Yet the Skinny Man still wore that fawning, sycophantic look, utterly sincere, as if he relished it and wanted more. The onlookers gritted their teeth—so pathetic they wanted to roll up their sleeves and join in. Where did this freak come from? And more importantly, who recruited this piece of work?

Even Donnie was speechless. Sensing the growing distance and the increasing drain on his Spark Energy, he controlled the Mini-Transformer to catch up quickly.

His goal was achieved: using a little thing to intimidate them, slowing the main force's advance, buying him time.

Some big shots couldn't sit still. They called their field subordinates, cursing them out. So many people cowed by a toy-sized thing—what a disgrace!

The big shots gave a death order, urging them to attack and drive this mutant out.

"We've mostly figured out his abilities. The database on this mutant is nearly complete! This time, we must kill him—he's not as strong as you think!"

One big shot told his subordinates that the motorcycle and such weren't as formidable as imagined. If they surrounded him from all sides and rained down bullets and shells, they'd tear him apart.

This mutant's Creation Ability seemed heavily tied to material quality. The better the material, the stronger the mechanical creations! As for the upper limit, that required more probing and analysis.

The big shots kept pushing their subordinates to attack, even if they could only fire one bullet. Because if they failed this time, the chance would slip away. Even ignoring the fact that a Level 4 Mutant could master self-growth frequencies and rapidly strengthen, the major powers wouldn't allow them to act so recklessly again!

This one chance was both a gift and a deliberate push by the major powers, using them as a touchstone for this new mutant. If Donnie died, it would be a pity, but it would also prove he was nothing special—not worth much—and the major powers wouldn't go to war over a corpse.

Of course, there were exceptions, like Magneto, sharpening his claws. He'd definitely launch a bloody revenge against the killer's faction.

A rare Level 4 Mutant with immense potential, a bit unruly or arrogant, unwilling to contact his Brotherhood, but still a rare talent. If they used him as a touchstone and the touchstone killed him, given old Magneto's fiery temper, it'd be a miracle if he didn't retaliate.

Even if someone had to kill him, only Magneto could do it. Anyone else who killed him would die!

So in theory, recruiting him would be best. If Donnie died, that faction would have to lie low, ensuring they could study the Level 4 Mutant's secrets before Magneto's rage wiped them out.

The big shots urged their subordinates to keep chasing, but not recklessly. Firing wildly in the bustling city center was a declaration of war against the federal government.

The armed men gritted their teeth, pulled themselves together, and prepared to pursue.

The Skinny Man took the lead, casually wiping the blood from his nose. Struck by inspiration, he yelled: "Come on, follow me! Watch me beat him with one hand! That earlier was just an accident!"

A Holy Light rose around the Skinny Man.

Another batch of people was infected by the Holy Light, howling and shouting about teaching Donnie a lesson.

Everyone wanted to faint. The hot-tempered ones outright cursed—how shameless could you get? If you're so tough, why didn't you step up earlier, pin that mutant down, instead of letting him run rampant?

The Skinny Man said: "That was just an accident. If I'd struck, he'd be dead in an instant."

A Holy Light rose around the Skinny Man.

Some big men were infected, their spirits lifted, confidence inexplicably surging. They vowed to capture the mutant alive, victory assured.

A few big shots simply turned off their screens, refusing to watch anymore. They suddenly felt pessimistic about this operation. Even with other contingencies, with people like this around, could such a team really succeed?