Fate Didn't Always Grab You by the Throat-Sometimes It Struck Your Weak Spot...

No one dared question him. Over the past two or three weeks, rumors about this "Boss Ethan" had seeped into every corner of the surrounding blocks, like the lingering stink of mildew in an alley.

Some said he had bent a knife with one hand when a lunatic tried to stab him over "territory," proclaimed himself king of the block, and claimed the best unoccupied shelter on the streets—

Others said a few thugs who refused to submit had tried to gang up on him. Their fists and bullets had struck his body with nothing but dull thuds, while he hadn't budged an inch. Instead, he had scared them shitless—

Still others said the man whose fingers could turn as hard as steel and easily score brick walls wasn't Ethan at all. The real Ethan had long since died in a deal with the devil—

But only those who had seen it themselves knew those stories weren't really "rumors."

This was how Mr. Ethan had established his position over the past two or three weeks. Not through smooth talk, but through power that defied belief yet was undeniably real!

In fact, few people knew that, during the first few days after his "awakening," the black man had only used this ability to protect himself and try to secure a better place to sleep.

But after a second "slumber," his control over this power to turn his body to metal had steadily improved. Most notably, in a fit of rage, he had punched through the blade of an outsider who had "crossed the line." He had mashed the face of that gang leader, who had tried to threaten him with a dagger and a gun, against a wall as easily as if it were butter. Then he had simply drawn his