At those deeply insulting words, Shadow Stinger's already thread-thin pupils contracted further. He gritted his teeth and said in a voice cold enough to cut to the bone, "Aren't you one too?"
The way Shadow Stinger threw the question back at him was an indirect admission that his opponent's judgment was right.
Yes, he was a monster who lived in the dark, one who could never show his face.
Killing was how he survived.
The extraordinary skills he had honed through it gave him the means to keep living. Time and again, he had prevailed in struggles against others like him and those unlike him, emerging as the final victor.
But his keen instincts told him that the opponent concealed beneath that black cloak also carried countless deaths on his conscience. He, too, was someone who could only survive in the dark.
That made Shadow Stinger all the angrier.
They were both creatures who couldn't bear the light. Who was he to look down on anyone?
What, did he think he was somehow cleaner?
Night Owl gave no answer to Shadow Stinger's challenge.
That made Shadow Stinger even angrier.
He was practically fuming.
The dry skin on the stooped middle-aged man's arms suddenly bulged. Something strange seemed to be moving beneath it.
To the naked eye, it looked as though dozens of little snakes were writhing wildly along his arms.
Then the pores on his arms opened. The currents racing beneath his skin finally found a way out and spilled over its surface.
Countless streams of black vapor rose from the middle-aged man's gaunt arms. In the blink of an eye, black smoke had engulfed his entire body.
The live feed could no longer capture Shadow Stinger's expression or movements. In the stands, spectators stared at the thick black smoke