In the White House's Oval Office, the dust and smoke cleared.
Butcher was the first to wake amid the rubble.
He staggered to his feet, every bone in his body protesting, but his bloodshot eyes immediately locked onto a figure not far away.
John groaned in pain, bracing himself against the floor as he tried to crawl up, but his limbs felt as heavy as lead.
He raised his head and glared at Butcher as he approached.
Instinctively, he widened his eyes, trying to fire Heat Vision.
Nothing happened. No red glow, no searing heat.
John was stunned.
He tried glaring harder, his eyes bulging with rage, but there was still no response.
Then he kicked off the ground, trying to soar into the air.
But he only leaped less than half a meter before falling back to the floor.
What's going on... my powers...
An unprecedented panic surged through him.
"What's wrong, mate?" Butcher grinned, revealing a cruel smile. "Not used to feeling like a mortal, are you?"
"Let the blood flow, boy!"
Growing more and more terrified, John made up his mind and decided to strike first.
He charged forward and threw a punch at Butcher.
Watching John's sluggish attack, Butcher casually raised a hand and caught his fist.
"This is Frenchie's Revenge!"
Then he unleashed a relentless flurry of combination punches!
His massive fists rained down on John's face.
One punch, two punches, three punches.
John's brow split open, his nose broke, his lips tore, and blood smeared across his entire face.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
John was knocked to the ground, violent pain overwhelming his mind.
It was the first time since growing up that he had experienced such pure, real physical pain.
Like a thug who had gotten beaten in a street brawl, he lay sprawled