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墨書 Inktalez
Flames engulfed the warehouse, thick smoke swirling in the air, obscuring visibility as ashes fell like fine snow. Suddenly, a tall figure emerged slowly from the haze and fire. His steps were steady, each one carrying an invisible weight of pressure, and the rifle in his hands gleamed with a cold metallic light. His face, illuminated by the flames, resembled that of a grim reaper from hell—cold and merciless.
On the ground lay several gangsters, their bodies twisted from the shockwave of the explosion, faces contorted in agony. Their chests heaved violently as their hands weakly grasped at nothing, like drowning men clutching at straws. However, when they saw Mark stepping out from the flames and smoke, their eyes betrayed an unmistakable shock and fear.
"This... how is this possible?" one gangster muttered, his voice hoarse and intermittent. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the figure. Just moments ago, the explosion had been cataclysmic; he had thought everyone inside the container had been reduced to ashes, yet this man stood before him, unscathed.
Another gangster lifted his head slightly, blood spilling from his mouth as he cursed under his breath, "A madman... this has to be a madman... who would stay inside a container packed with explosives and then come out like this..."
Mark paid no mind to their astonishment and fear. He raised his rifle steadily, his cold gaze sweeping over the dying gangsters one by one. His face showed no emotion as his finger gently squeezed the trigger.
"Bang!"
The first shot shattered the thick smoke, a precise bullet piercing through one gangster's skull, blood and brain matter splattering like spilled waste. The man's body jerked violently before collapsing limply to the ground, breathless. Mark's rifle then turned towards another gangster who was struggling to rise.
"Bang!"
Another shot rang out, hitting its mark flawlessly. A charred bullet hole appeared on the gangster's forehead; fear froze on his face as he fell back to the ground, ending his pitiful and contemptible life.
The few surviving gangsters attempted to plead or struggle, but Mark's indifferent gaze was like the scythe of death, rendering all their resistance futile. The sound of the rifle echoed like a judgment bell, ringing out again and again amidst the flames and smoke. With each gunshot, another life was extinguished, their blood staining the hellish ruins around them.
Mark's steps did not falter; his gaze remained cold and focused as if these people were merely debris that needed clearing away. He understood that their fear and despair were part of his feast of revenge. The remnants of this feast would serve as a profound warning to the underground forces of Shadow City—an emissary of hell was settling every score.
Outside the warehouse, gangsters heard the deafening explosions and screams emanating from within and immediately dropped what they were doing, rushing towards the warehouse in a frenzy. Their footsteps echoed harshly in the night air of the port area as several pushed against each other, eager to be the first to enter and uncover what had transpired.
As they stepped into the warehouse, each person gasped in horror at the scene before them. Smoke billowed everywhere; flames consumed shelves while shattered wooden crates and twisted metal littered the ground. Blood pooled across the floor amidst dismembered bodies—a chaotic and eerie sight that felt like hell had descended upon them.
"What... what is going on?!" one gangster shouted in terror, his gun trembling in hand. He scanned frantically for the source of this disaster but could see nothing through the thick smoke.
"Was it an accidental discharge? Or is there a traitor among us?!" another gangster tried to steady himself, though his voice trembled with uncertainty and fear etched across his face. Countless possibilities flashed through their minds, yet none could explain the chaos unfolding before them.
"Could it be an attack?" a slightly experienced thug whispered cautiously, tightening his grip on the Rifle in his hands, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes.
However, while these men were still speculating wildly, a series of cold and precise gunfire suddenly erupted from the smoke, cutting through the thick fog and flames in the warehouse, striking one of them directly in the chest.
"Bang! Bang! Bang—!"
The thug's body jolted violently as if struck by an invisible hammer; his chest was instantly torn apart, blood gushing out like a waterfall. Terror filled his eyes as he let out a hoarse scream, "Enemy attack—!"
Yet before he could finish his words, a bullet accurately struck his head, the explosive force nearly shattering it into pieces. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground like a broken puppet, blood rapidly spreading across the floor.
The other thugs were paralyzed with fear at this scene, frantically turning to find cover. But more gunfire erupted from the smoke, as if an invisible reaper was hunting among them. Bullets ruthlessly tore through the air, precisely penetrating every target exposed within range.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
One thug was hit in the leg and fell to the ground with a scream. Another bullet pierced through his skull, ending his life. Another thug attempted to raise his weapon to retaliate but was shot in the shoulder; the searing pain caused him to drop his gun. Almost immediately, a second bullet mercilessly struck his chest, leaving him writhing in a pool of blood.
"Wha... what is happening?! Who is attacking us?!" The remaining thugs shouted in panic. Their formation had already collapsed; their eyes darted around but could not find any trace of the enemy. Each gunshot amidst the smoke and flames felt like a summons from death, leading them one by one toward destruction.
Meanwhile, deep within the smoke, Mark stood steady with his Rifle aimed coldly forward, his finger firmly on the trigger. Each bullet he fired was delivered with lethal accuracy, completely suppressing this chaotic group of enemies. He coldly observed the horrific scene inside the warehouse without an ounce of pity.
Outside the warehouse, the earlier explosion and the thugs' dying cries of "enemy attack" ignited a firestorm of anger among a group of smaller thugs waiting outside. Initially thinking it was an accident or that someone had fired their weapon accidentally inside, they now realized they were under attack! Roars and curses erupted as they drew their weapons, faces filled with rage and murderous intent. They quickly gathered together, preparing to storm into the warehouse to find this lunatic who dared challenge the Snakebite Gang and tear him apart.
Inside the warehouse, some thugs who had been knocked over by the explosion or impacted by debris were shakily getting back on their feet. Their ears were still ringing and their bodies ached painfully, but anger and fear forced them to steady themselves. Cursing under their breath, they raised their guns in search of the attacker’s exact position.
"Search for that bastard! Find out where he is!" shouted one thug with some authority, his voice hoarse yet filled with fury. He pressed a hand against his bleeding forehead and scanned through the thick smoke with his gun as if trying to suppress his inner turmoil with sheer rage.
Just as they prepared to launch their search, a tall figure suddenly burst forth from the flames and smoke.
Mark moved swiftly and silently like a ghost; he slung his Rifle over his shoulder and drew a tactical shotgun. The weapon felt solid in his hands, its dark metal gleaming ominously as he aimed it forward, radiating an aura of destruction. He knew that soon enough, the thugs outside would come rushing in; he had to eliminate the remaining enemies inside first or risk being caught in a crossfire.
"Bang!"
Mark decisively pulled the trigger, the thunderous roar of the shotgun splitting the smoke and fire. A thug, just managing to steady himself, had his chest explode violently. Metal pellets pierced through his ribs and organs, blood splattering everywhere as his body crumpled to the ground like a discarded rag, instantly lifeless.
The other thugs were thrown into chaos by this sudden attack, raising their guns in panic, but Mark's figure darted swiftly through the smoke and flames, impossible to target.
"Bang!"
Another shot rang out, deadly accurate. A thug's head was shattered by the shotgun blast, blood and bone fragments flying in all directions as his limp body crashed into a nearby cargo box with a thunderous thud. This scene sent chills down the spines of the remaining thugs; they began to retreat, but Mark advanced like a predator closing in on its prey.
"Bang! Bang!"
With each pull of the trigger, another corpse lay sprawled on the warehouse floor. Mark's movements were precise and rapid, as if calculated through countless scenarios. He navigated through the flames and smoke with steady, powerful strides; the shotgun's firepower was nearly unmatched at close range, and no thug could withstand a second attack.
"What is he? A monster?!" The last few surviving thugs screamed in hysteria, but before they could find cover, Mark kicked over a cargo box, revealing their terrified faces.
"Bang——!"
Mark's final shot ended all resistance. He coldly scanned the area to ensure that the thugs in the warehouse posed no further threat before slowly straightening up to reload his shotgun with fresh ammunition. He did not pause; his gaze hardened as he listened to the sounds coming from outside the warehouse.
"Your turn," he murmured, stepping confidently toward the exit, ready to face the next wave of enemies.
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