For every Dalit they killed, the black people's wealth value no longer increased by one hundred, but by one thousand.
A single attack was enough to send most of their wealth values straight past 950. The effect was almost instantaneous.
Within the first breath after the numbers changed, piercing screams erupted simultaneously along several major streets in Emperor Taihuang City.
The black people who had been swinging their fists with abandon suddenly discovered that the black light of Zero-Dollar Shopping enveloping their bodies was visibly fading.
Their once impregnable All-Laws Immunity grew thin and transparent. The battered weapons in the Dalits' hands no longer bounced away, but cut straight into their skin.
The change came without warning. One moment, a black man was laughing as he crushed a Dalit's skull beneath his foot; the next, he found a rusty nail driven between his ribs.
One second, another black man was showing off, letting a Dalit's wooden club strike his body with hollow thuds; the next, that same club broke his arm.
A rust-speckled iron shard pierced a black man's eye socket. The scrawny Dalit wielding it barely reached his chest, and the force behind the blow was laughably weak. Yet that laughable force drove the shard through the protection that no longer existed, burying it all the way into the back of his head.
On another street, a black man had just hacked off a Dalit's head. Blood spurted out, splashing across his face.
Before he could even savor the excitement of killing, a Dalit lunged at him from behind and tore through his throat with yellow-stained teeth.
There were no fluctuations of mythic factor, no radiance of All-Laws Immunity.
What unfolded here was no longer a clash between mythic walkers, but the most primitive struggle of flesh and blood.