This damn pickup truck is probably the epitome of industrial waste from the last century.
The sound coming from under the hood was less like the desperate gasping of an elderly man suffering from terminal tuberculosis before his death.
With each piston impact, the car body resonated as if on the verge of disintegration.
Air conditioning? That thing became obsolete eight hundred years ago.
Instead of cold air, the vents were blowing out a Heat Wave mixed with the smell of engine oil and California desert dust, two degrees hotter than the blazing sun outside.
The bottle of cheap tequila that Yasuo had pilfered from a roadside stall was almost empty.
"The suspension system of this crappy car is probably made of noodles."
Yasuo complained that the bottle had hit his teeth as the car bumped around.
"If I were you, I'd sell that jade. That thing could buy you a sports car with a built-in the Fridge and massage chairs, and it could also get you a year's stay in the presidential suite in Las Vegas."
Hector gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands.
He ignored Yasuo's trash talk, his eyes fixed on the endless asphalt road ahead.
"How much longer? My ass is about to go numb."
Yasuo sighed and casually tossed the empty bottle out the window.
"Once you pass the next checkpoint, you'll be in California."
Hector's voice was tense.
"That was the first line of defense set up by the Magia. Over there, the police didn't care; the uniformed men were all mercenaries on dirty money."
Before he could finish speaking...
Several hundred meters ahead, several black dots appeared in the distorted air caused by the Heat Wave.
Two heavily modified black Hummer SUVs stood like two steel behemoths blocking the road, completely shutting out the way.
Several guys wearing full tactical bulletproof vests and carrying M4 assault rifles were leaning against the car smoking.
On the roof of one of the vehicles, there was even an oversized Browning M2 heavy machine gun.
Looks like we'll have to pay a toll.
Yasuo yawned and sat up straight.
Hector did not slow down.
Instead, he slammed his foot, clad in a tattered work boot, down the gas pedal.
Under the control of this mad mechanic, the steel Beast unleashed its final power, spewing thick black smoke from its exhaust pipe.
The speedometer needle jumped wildly, soaring straight into the redline zone.
The mercenary leader at the checkpoint, who had been boasting to his men, turned from mocking to horrified upon seeing this.
He yelled hoarsely into the loudspeaker, "Stop the car! Or open fire! Open fire!"
The next second, the heavy machine gun spat out flames.
The bullet hit the hood, sending sparks flying.
The windshield has turned into a spider web.
"Hold on tight!"
Hector roared.
A green light burst forth from the amulet on his chest, enveloping his entire body.
A tangible layer of energy.
Hector jerked the steering wheel, and the pickup truck swerved, crashing sideways into the SUV blocking the way.
"Boom--!"
The two-ton SUV was flipped over by the impact and rolled several times on the ground like a toy.
The pickup truck finally gave way, its engine stalling with white smoke billowing from the front.
The car door was kicked open.
Hector jumped out.
He had completely changed; a white, tight-fitting battle suit covered his entire body, and sharp alloy claws extended from his fingertips.
"Monster! He's Superman!"
"Concentrate your firepower! Turn him into a sieve!"
The remaining mercenaries panicked and opened fire.
Hector roared and moved like lightning.
He landed on all fours, his movements wild and swift, dodging most of the bullets and charging into the crowd despite being hit by several stray bullets.
"Tear--"
The sound of claws slicing through a Kevlar body armor was lighter than tearing paper. Blood splattered—it was pure, violent aesthetics.
With each claw strike, a piece of flesh or a life is inevitably taken away.
The tiger that existed within the amulet completely took over Hector's consciousness, reveling in the carnage.
"Hey, leave two alive to ask for directions."
Yasuo slowly climbed out of the passenger seat, longsword in hand. He looked at the mercenaries who had turned their guns on him and shook his head helplessly.
Why do people always think I'm easy to bully?
"Kill that beggar with the katana!"
A mercenary pulled the trigger.
The longsword thrust out, swift as a shooting star.
The fierce wind whipped up by the sword tip created a straight airflow channel in the air.
The bullet that was fired at him was split in two.
Before the mercenary could even show a look of disbelief, Yasuo had already vanished from the spot.
" Steel Tempest."
He weaved through the crowd, using the bodies of his enemies as stepping stones. The blue sword light was like willow catkins dancing in the wind, light yet deadly.
With each flash of sword light, someone clutched their throat and collapsed.
There were no screams, only the sound of the wind.
Just as the man operating the heavy machine gun was about to turn the muzzle, Hector had already pounced on him.
The White Tiger's claws pierced directly into the gun barrel, and it twisted it forcefully.
"Snap!"
The alloy gun barrel was twisted into a pretzel shape.
Hector slapped the man's helmet and head into his chest cavity.
The battle ended even faster than this beat-up car stalled.
The scene was one of utter devastation, filled with the smoke of battle.
Hector's white battle suit faded, but the green light in his eyes still flickered. His chest heaved violently, his hands gripped the ground like claws, and a low growl escaped his throat.
Yasuo walked up to the leader who was still alive and knelt down.
Can I borrow a light?
The leader stared at the devil in terror, trembling as he pulled a lighter from his pocket.
Yasuo lit the cigarette that had somehow ended up in his mouth, took a deep drag, and then blew the smoke into the leader's face.
"Tell Count Nefaria, whether it's the Magia or some other shady organization," Yasuo pointed to Hector, who was struggling to catch his breath, "That someone's come to settle old scores with him."
After saying that, Yasuo stood up and swung his longsword downwards without warning.
A blade of wind swept past.
A red line appeared on the leader's neck, and his mouth was permanently shut.
Didn't you say you'd leave someone alive to ask for directions?
Hector finally suppressed his murderous intent, stood up, and frowned as he looked at the corpse on the ground.
"I know the way." Yasuo pointed to the distant city silhouette, glowing with light pollution in the night. "That's the brightest and darkest place in the world, besides Hell."
Hector looked in the direction he was pointing.
Los Angeles.
City of Angels.
Beneath those dazzling lights, no one knows how many innocent souls are buried, nor how many demons in designer suits are hidden.
That car is totaled.
Hector kicked the still-smoking pickup truck.
"Then let's walk over there."
Yasuo patted the flask at his waist; inside was a bottle of whiskey he had just looted from the mercenary vehicle, and it looked to be of good quality.
"Anyway, the journey is long, so this is a good opportunity to sober up."
The two walked one after the other, stepping over the bullet casings and bloodstains scattered on the ground, toward that bustling city of sin.