Hotel lobby.
The receptionist saw a man covered in blood, holding a gun, walk in through the revolving door, and the color drained from her face in an instant.
Her mouth was open as if she wanted to scream, but it felt like something was choking her throat, and she couldn't make a sound.
The security guard, who was paid a high salary by Russell, was quite responsible. He rushed out from the corner, his hand on the stun gun at his waist, but his steps faltered.
They saw the gun, and they also saw the expression on the man's face.
That expression wasn't the greed of a robber, nor the fanaticism of a terrorist; it was the resolute determination of someone who had nothing left to lose and was utterly fearless.
"Sir, this is now Mr. Russell's private property. No one is allowed to enter with a gun without an invitation."
The security guard stood in front of the man, who felt he had to do justice to Mr. Russell's money.
More importantly, he didn't believe the other side would dare to fire a shot right under Lord Russell's nose.
Upon hearing this, Jim did not immediately try to force his way in, but stopped in front of the security personnel who reached out to stop him.
He looked up, staring straight at him. The male security guard felt extremely uncomfortable under his gaze, but he still gritted his teeth and stood in front of him.
"Sir, you can't—" The manager, having received the message, ran down the stairs. She was dressed impeccably in a suit and high heels, but her forehead was covered in sweat.
She stood in front of Jim in place of the security guard, arms outstretched, her heroic demeanor resembling that of a well-dressed Heroes.
"You can't come in, this is a private residence."
Seeing that the two were adamant, the man named Russell from the video did not appear again.
Jim frowned, slowly raised his hand, and pointed the gun at her.
"Take me to the God's Whip."
"God's Whip ..." The manager's voice caught in her throat as she suppressed her fear.
"You must be referring to Mr. Russell. I'm sorry, he's very busy right now and won't see anyone without an appointment."
Jim pointed the gun vertically upwards, pulled the trigger, and a shot rang out.
"Take me to the God's Whip."
Realizing the other party wasn't joking, and with his boss Russell not intervening, the manager slowly lowered his hand and moved his body to the side, like a rusty machine struggling to operate.
"God ... which floor does Russell live on?" Jim asked.
The manager opened his mouth, but did not answer.
"I'm asking you," Jim's voice didn't rise, but every word pierced the manager's ears like nails. "Russell, which floor do you live on?"
"The... top floor." The manager's voice trembled, intimidated by Jim's cold gaze, and he weakly replied, "The Presidential Suite."
Jim nodded, put the pistol in his pocket, and headed for the elevator.
He pressed the up button, the elevator doors slid open, he stepped inside, and then pressed the top floor button.
As the door closed, he saw the security guards still standing there, their hands on the stun guns, but none of them followed him.
As the elevator ascended, Jim leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He could feel the elevator rising, and the slight feeling of weightlessness made his stomach a little uncomfortable.
He thought of Emily, of her lying in the hospital bed, and of her last words—"Jim, I love you."
Unfortunately, his lover will never come back; it was all caused by that damned capitalist system.
The elevator doors opened.
The top-floor corridor was long and wide, clearly meticulously decorated, with thick carpets that made almost no sound when stepped on.
Oil paintings hung on the walls, and the warm yellow light illuminated the entire corridor, making it resemble a quiet museum.
Jim walked to the end of the corridor and stood in front of the door. There was no room number on the door, only a gold handle.
He took a deep breath, put away his pistol, and politely knocked on the door.
However, no one responded.
He looked to the side and knocked again.
Finally, the door slowly opened from the inside.
The girl who opened the door had blonde hair, wore a loose T-shirt, and had a sharp steel claw in her right hand, somewhat resembling the Wolverine costume he had seen online.
Laura saw the gun in Jim's hand, frowned slightly, but showed no fear, no scream, and didn't even back away.
She merely frowned, as if she had spotted a fly that shouldn't be there.
Who are you looking for?
"Russell," Jim said calmly.
"He's not here." Laura finished speaking and was about to close the door to continue training. She was still waiting for Russell to improve his skills.
"He's here." Jim's voice became more urgent. "I know he's here, please, I want to see him."
He is universally acknowledged God's Whip, while I am just one of the people suffering in the city; we can have common ground."
The girl looked at him for a few seconds, then stepped aside to let him in. "Come in, but put the gun away."
Jim paused, surprised that it was so easy. He put the gun back in his pocket and went into the room.
The living room was huge, so huge that he thought he had gone to the wrong place. The sofa, coffee table, and Floor-to-Ceiling Window were all exceptionally luxurious. The bookshelves were filled with all kinds of books, and there were two girls in the room. One of them, a brown-haired girl, sat cross-legged and seemed to be eerily suspended in mid-air.
That's right, either his eyes are malfunctioning, or he's floating in mid-air. There's also a girl playing with an energy ball in her palm; that energy ball is so terrifying that it would explode if you just looked at it.
At that moment, a young man came out, wearing slippers and a bathrobe, his hair still a little wet, looking lazy and casual.
However, his skin was exceptionally fair, his body proportions were simply perfect, and coupled with his Angel face and deep blue eyes, Jim was unconsciously distracted.
When Russell saw Jim, he showed no surprise, no curiosity, and not even a trace of extra emotion.
Russell had noticed the man when he was being chased by the police and appeared near the hotel, but he didn't pay any attention to him until the man burst into the hotel and shouted "God's Whip".
When the topic turns to the God's Whip, he becomes wide awake, for its long history can be traced back to a past life.
However, no one expected that someone would now call him the God's Whip.
"You came to see me, is there something you need?" Russell asked casually.
Unexpectedly, Jim immediately knelt down.
His knees slammed onto the carpet with a dull thud. His head was bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor, and he placed the gun on the ground, pushing it respectfully towards the floor.
"Honorable God's Whip ... my name is Jim." His voice trembled, not from fear, but from the kind of trembling that comes from emotions that have been suppressed for too long and have finally found someone to confide in, like a flood bursting its banks.
"My wife died because we couldn't afford medical treatment. I was swindled out of all my money by the bank, and they're going to foreclose on my house next month. I killed the people who cheated me out of my money, and the police are after me; I can't escape."
He finally raised his head and looked at Russell. There were no tears, no pleading in his eyes, only one thing—despair.
That kind of despair that sinks to the bottom, where you can't even hear an echo, like being buried in a deep well.
"I watched your video," Jim continued. "You were so invincible at the hotel entrance that people were afraid of you and called you Mutants, a monster."
Those who like you say you are the incarnation of God, the God's Whip sent to punish this Auxiliary Kingdom."
His voice trailed off, "I don't know who you are, but I know you can do things I can't."
Russell looked at him without saying a word.
"I'm not begging you to save me." Jim's eyelids drooped. "I know I don't have much time left, and I don't want to live, but I want to do something meaningful before I die."
I want to kill those bankers, those capitalists, those who put other people's money into their own pockets and then throw other people's money into the trash.
One, two, ten, a hundred... kill as many as you can.
He lowered his head, his forehead pressed against the carpet.
"Please, give me strength, even just a little, even just for an hour. I'm willing to give everything, including my life, my Soul Stone, everything I have, you can take it all."
Upon hearing this, the room fell silent for a few seconds, with only Laura twirling a sharp fruit knife between her fingers.
Russell stepped forward, walked up to him, squatted down, and looked him in the eye.
Those eyes, whose color was hard to describe, were looking at Jim.
"Are you willing to give up everything to gain power?"
"Anything, as long as I can gain the power to take revenge." Jim's voice was unwavering.
"Including your life?"
"Include."
Russell looked at the man kneeling before him. If Mephisto were here, he would definitely be interested in a man who could give everything without reservation.
However, this is just Russell's own conjecture. An ancient Hell Lord like Him would never have feelings for an ordinary mortal. After all, the kneeling man Jim, not Peter Parker or Stephen Strange.
Two seconds later, he slowly reached out and placed his hand on Jim's head.
"As you wish."
Jim's body stiffened abruptly.
He felt a force pouring into him from the top of his head, like an electric current, like scalding water, like something he had never felt before, both painful and exhilarating.
His muscles were trembling, his bones were creaking, and his heart was pounding as if it would burst out of his chest. Something was flowing, changing, and regenerating beneath his skin.
"To gain power, you must endure pain; this is something you must go through." Russell's words were not false.
The X-Factor in the man's body is in a recessive state, unlike the situations of Felicity, Laura, and others. To have external forces intervene and edit Genes fragments, one must endure immense pain, and there is even a risk of Genes collapse.
While Russell may have been suspected of experimenting on Jim, he certainly did not intend to kill him.
Jim gritted his teeth and persevered; he could endure any pain as long as he could gain power.
About ten minutes later, Jim, kneeling on the ground, was covered in sweat, his fingernails digging deep into his thigh flesh. The burning pain that pierced his bones gradually subsided, allowing his tense nerves to relax.
[X-Factor editing successful. Target: Jim. Ability type: Temporary physical enhancement. Duration: 24 hours.]
Russell released his grip and stood up.
"One day." He held up one finger. "You only have one day to have superpowers. In these twenty-four hours, you will be ten times stronger than an ordinary person, five times faster, and your healing factor will be enough to withstand a handgun bullet."
But you only have one day. Once that time is up, you will revert to being an ordinary person, or even weaker than an ordinary person."
He looked down at Jim, his eyes devoid of any emotion. "Go, do what you want to do."
Jim got up from the ground.
His body was filled with power, like a drowning person finally surfacing, or someone who had been groping in the dark for too long finally seeing the light.
Although he doesn't possess Gods powers like Magneto or the man before him, he's more than capable of dealing with ordinary firearms.
He clenched his fist, feeling as if his fingers could crush steel. The gunshot wound on his right arm healed at a visible speed thanks to his exaggerated self-healing ability. With a bang, the Negasonic Teenage Warhead, deep in his flesh, was squeezed out.
He looked at Russell, his lips moved as if he wanted to say thank you, but he didn't.
Because "thank you" is too light, too light to say.
"Now I am certain that you are the true God's Whip, thank you for your blessing." Jim bowed devoutly.
[A surge of devout Faith Power detected; Faith Power increasing...]
The system notification sounded, and suddenly Russell's vision changed. An almost transparent beam of light extended from the top of his head, and the other end of the beam was bound to Jim, who was bowing.
Russell glanced at the people around him; they all seemed oblivious to the light binding the two of them.
Or perhaps, they simply cannot see it.
After Jim finished kowtowing, he stood up and walked towards the door. After a few steps, he stopped and did not turn back.
"Can I, in the name of God's Whip God and punish the Demons in human skin?" Jim asked in a low voice, a hint of anticipation in his voice.
Russell smiled. "Maybe, but I have no objection. Do whatever you want."
Jim pushed open the door and walked out, his resolve growing stronger. The hallway was long and wide, the carpet thick and silent underfoot.
His steps were quick and steady, like someone who had finally found their direction.
As the elevator doors closed, Russell turned and walked back to the bathroom. The Aqua Regia was still in the bathtub, the orange liquid shimmering slightly under the light. He took off his bathrobe and lay down inside.
[Super Self-Healing Experience +0.3]
The efficiency was low again, which displeased Russell. He decided to combine Aqua Regia and Sulfuric Acid to create a highly corrosive Super Bone-Dissolving Water.
Felicity peeked out from the doorway. "You gave him power?"
"Um."
"He's going to seek revenge, but he'll die in the end."
"Everyone dies." Russell closed his eyes. "The difference is that some people die like dogs, and some people die like men."
Stepping out of the elevator, Jim searched for a suitable melee weapon and finally found a watermelon knife over seventy centimeters long in the hotel kitchen.
Amidst the astonished gazes of the crowd in the lobby, Jim, with a pistol in his left hand and a watermelon knife in his right, walked straight out of the hotel entrance, a few bits of watermelon pulp clinging to the cold blade.
His gaze was cold and indifferent, as if he were facing death, and he strode towards the still-dispersing police force.
"The target has been identified. He now has... a watermelon knife. Requesting instructions."
"Once the target leaves the hotel premises, arrest them immediately; if that's not possible, kill them on the spot."
Bang! Bang!
Jim stared at the Black Hole of the policeman's gun aimed at him, and fired first. With his experience serving in the Marine Corps, his marksmanship was impeccable.
One policeman after another fell to the ground, shot in the head.
"Fuck, fire!"
The police opened fire freely, Jim didn't flinch. He threw away his emptied pistol, grabbed a machete, and charged into the arresting team.
Puff~ Puff~
The sounds of flesh being pierced were incessant as Jim's knife rose and fell, again and again... without even blinking.