Demon Aura Nine-Sword Style (2/3)

,Working for the System in Marvel

"Don't be afraid, he's alone!"

Running away was also a skill. Deacon loudly encouraged his underlings while quietly taking two steps back.

"Yeah, no matter how strong he is, he's still human! Let's attack together and wear him down!"

Quinn immediately echoed Deacon, though his feet did not move an inch.

Deacon regretted it.

He had clearly found a photocopy of the Dark Bible. All he had to do was follow the ritual in the book, summon the Blood God to possess him, become immortal, then become the Vampire King and rule the world. Wouldn't that have been wonderful?

Impulse was the Devil.

The above was the delusion of a frog at the bottom of a well named "Deacon Frost."

The Dark Bible had many names: the Darkhold, the Book of the Damned, the Book of Sins, and the Chthon Scrolls. It recorded countless dark spells.

It was said to have been written by the ancient Elder God Chthon.

As for the Blood God Amado... he was probably some relatively powerful Demon in Hell.

But was he stronger than Mephisto or Dormammu?

Those two big shots had longed for it yet failed to accomplish it. What gave the Blood God the right?

The bald big shot, The Ancient One, merely smiled without speaking.

Meanwhile.

Faced with attacks coming from every direction, Mike felt a little excited. He took out a Nichirin Sword from the System Space and clenched it between his teeth, while gripping a silver katana in each hand.

He spread his feet apart and lowered his knees.

The air seemed to grow viscous, twisting in an eerie manner.

For a moment, Mike seemed to transform into a creature with three heads and six arms.

"Demon Aura: Nine-Sword Style: Ashura..." Mike's lips curled upward. "...Nine Flash!!!"

In an instant, Mike became a storm of blades. The approaching Vampires were like chunks of meat thrown into a grinder.

A graze meant maiming, a hit meant death... The Vampires howled inwardly. How were they supposed to fight this? What was the point of having numbers?

Vampires feared death too. Those at the front died quickly, while those behind hurriedly fled backward, moving far faster than they had when charging in.

Come when you wanted and leave when you wanted... had Mike agreed to that?

The screams and cries did not last long.

The black ash left behind by the dead Vampires formed a black tornado amid the sword aura. Mike, standing in its eye, possessed a strange sort of beauty.

"Ah!!!"

Quinn's legs went weak. He pulled out his pistol and fired at Mike, but in his terror, he had even forgotten to disengage the safety.

Mike threw the two silver katanas. One blade pierced through Quinn's chest, while the other forced Deacon, who had nearly crossed the threshold, to stop.

"You came all this way. Leaving just like that wouldn't be very polite, would it?" Mike narrowed his eyes.

"We can talk! We can talk about anything! Spare me, and I'll give you whatever you want!"

If Vampires could sweat normally, Deacon would probably have dehydrated.

Mike smiled. "If those are your last words, then that's pretty terrible."

With that, he assumed an Iai stance.

"Ahhh..."

Deacon bolted outside. Vampires were already faster than humans, and driven by terror, Deacon moved so quickly that he seemed to leave afterimages.

The next moment.

"How is he in front of me?"

While running, Deacon discovered in shock that Mike was standing before him with his back turned.

"One Sword Style: Iai. Lion's Song!"

Mike slowly sheathed his sword.

The world spun.

Deacon caught sight of a headless body still running.

That looks familiar.

Deacon's final thought.

"Zoro really is something. Setting aside the power, his style alone is absolutely first-rate."

"Probably only Red-Haired Shanks and Black Blade Mihawk, who rows with his sword, can reliably outclass him."

After saying things no one else could understand, Mike said helplessly, "Have you watched enough? Come out."

Blade stepped out from the shadows in the corner.

Mike said, "Brother, have some self-awareness."

Punisher, dressed in camouflage, rose from the grass. Daredevil slid down from the rooftop along a steel cable.

Feeling depressed, Mike knocked on the door of the house beside him.

The door opened, revealing Coulson's good-natured face.

"If I said it was a coincidence, would you believe me?"

"Believe... my ass."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Four of you—enough for a mahjong table. Are you all that free? Being watched like this makes me feel like I'm doing myself a disservice by not charging admission."

First, Mike said to Coulson, "I told you last time, I'm not interested in S.H.I.E.L.D. Joining S.H.I.E.L.D. is impossible, impossible for this entire lifetime. But I can take commissions. As long as the money is right. Given our friendship, I'll give you a five percent discount."

Mike handed Coulson a business card.

Coulson thought, So after all that talk about our deep friendship, it's only worth five percent.

Mike turned his gaze to Daredevil. "You don't have any objections to cleaning up a few Vampires, right?"

What Mike feared most was Daredevil saying something like, "Vampires can be good or bad too." Maybe that would not be wrong, but Mike figured he would not be able to stop himself from punching him.

Fortunately, Daredevil remained silent.

Finally, Mike handed Blade and Punisher a business card each.

"I won't actively go looking for trouble with gangs or Vampires, but it's different if there's a commission. If there's something difficult or something you can't handle, contact me. Reasonable rates, excellent value."

He did not give Daredevil a business card. That guy often paid out of pocket for his clients and was dirt poor. There was no way he could afford Mike.

Besides, those who walked different paths could not make plans together.

Back at the supermarket, Mike called Fat Jerry and told him Deacon had been dealt with.

Fat Jerry reminded Mike to be careful, especially over the next couple of days.

Next came the division of the spoils.

Fat Jerry promptly transferred seventy thousand US dollars.

Heh, taking their money and taking their lives—although Mike's skin was thick, he could not help blushing for one second.

Fine, half a second. No more than that.

Coulson was writing a report, mainly about Mike's abilities.

Cutting bullets with a sword... If he had not worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. and seen so much, Coulson's worldview might have shattered today.

"Terrifying dynamic vision, unparalleled precision, speed far beyond that of ordinary people..."

"Calm, extremely calm. Confident, exceptionally confident. Faced with the siege of more than forty people, he showed not the slightest panic."

"Able to conjure weapons out of thin air."

"During battle, transformed into a being with three heads and six arms, like a Demon God. Supernatural power?"

Coulson wrote down both his questions and guesses.

Combined with the mysterious thick fog in the previous Foot Gang massacre and that assassination technique that killed one little friend with each slash... the director was surely going to have a headache.

When facing extraordinary powers, whether they were righteous or evil, Nick Fury would first formulate a plan to capture or eliminate them.

From Nick Fury's perspective, there was nothing wrong with being cautious around others. After all, the destruction caused by extraordinary powers far exceeded that of ordinary people.

But in Mike's eyes, wanting to guard against others at every turn while also expecting them to willingly risk their lives was rather unethical.

So it was more practical to talk about money and commissions.

After receiving Coulson's report, Nick Fury was silent for a long time before instructing his secretary not to let anyone in.

His expression grave, he took out a key, opened the bottom drawer, and removed a combination box from inside.

Only Nick knew the password.

Nick seemed somewhat hesitant, but he eventually opened the box and took out a... fruit gummy.

The fruity fragrance, the springy texture... Nick wore an intoxicated expression. It was so delicious.

Whenever he encountered a headache-inducing problem and no one was around, Nick would happily eat one. It was incredibly stress-relieving.

"Heavy sniper rifles, armored tanks, small missiles..."

Nick wrote down one term after another on a sheet of paper, trying to find a good way to deal with Mike.

"As expected..."

Black Egg crossed out the terms one by one and muttered, "Using extraordinary power against extraordinary power is the most ideal method."

One moment, he was thinking about how to deal with Mike. The next, Nick added Mike's name to the recruitment list and underlined it heavily.

As night deepened, Nick put the combination box back into the drawer, locked it, then carefully checked it once more.

He absolutely did not want a newspaper headline like this to appear: "Shocking! The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Has This Kind of Hobby!" Accompanied by a picture of him holding a fruit gummy with a blissful expression.

Anyone who knew, die!!!