Under London Bridge, darkness reigned. The shrill wail of police sirens, the roar of fire trucks, the panicked screams of the crowd, and the thunderous rumble of armed helicopters sweeping across the sky—all these sounds were deafening. London was shaken, and tonight, no one would sleep. In less than ten minutes, the events of this night would explode across the globe.
But once these sounds were blocked by the bridge, they grew faint. The Thames flowed noisily beside the concrete platform, and in the midst of the murmuring water, this corner somehow felt even quieter, like cicadas buzzing in a silent forest.
All the surveillance cameras had already been trashed by the white muscle giant's crew.
"The London military has dispatched supersonic jets. They'll reach your location in three minutes. You have eighteen seconds left, then you must evacuate." The white muscle giant heard the liaison officer's message, the voice a bit tense: "You wasted too much time just now. There's not much left."
He could hear it, and so could Jill Young. But Jill didn't care at all. Instead, she turned to Jonathan Black, cocked her head, and pointed at the big guy: "You recognize that ugly mug full of meat?"
"Seems kinda familiar... but also not? There's a name on the tip of my tongue, but it's like a burp that just won't come out..." Jonathan Black frowned, thinking hard. "If he can mention 'Phantom Mask' and 'Bloody Queen,' we must've met him ages ago."
Jill Young tapped her chin. "A guy this outstandingly ugly? No way I'd forget him..."
Jonathan Black nodded seriously. "I agree with that logic. But maybe he had some weird accident lately that totally messed up his looks."
Jill Young shifted her pose. "Like, maybe he fell into a sewage pit full of lye?"
Jonathan Black stayed dead serious. "Hey, that's not impossible."
"Enough!!" The white giant's neck veins bulged as he roared in anger. One second distracted by a message, and suddenly people were saying he'd fallen into a sewage pit—this was not at all what he'd imagined. Or fantasized, really.
He glared viciously at Jill Young, completely ignoring Jonathan Black. "Arrogant, arrogant, still so arrogant! Bloody Queen, you haven't changed a bit. But you should know, arrogance is only for the strong when facing the weak, for a winner facing a loser—not for a fool running their mouth at death's door!"
"Fool..." Jill Young's eyes instantly turned sinister.
"Ha! Yes, that's the look!" The white giant's eyes gleamed with a savage light. "It's been ages—ages since I've seen that expression! You haven't changed, not at all, and that makes me so happy!"
"Careful, she's just stalling for time." The liaison's voice grew urgent. "Finish them off, quick! Who knows what kind of game-changing treasure a Chosen One might have hidden in their storage space? Remember, villains always die from talking too much."
"Shut up, you idiot! I know what I'm doing!!" The white giant's veins popped across his face, his fangs stretching longer, skin turning pitch black—he was losing control, plunging into a berserk transformation.
Drip, drip—saliva slid down his fangs, hitting the ground like something out of Alien. The muscle monster's blood-red eyes locked on Jill Young. Like an actor in a play, he stretched his hands toward her, nervously whispering: "You haven't changed, but the world has. The era has changed. You need to understand—in this era, Chosen Ones are everything! The Heavenly Ranking, that's the pyramid of this new age. Stand one step higher, and you get endless power and wealth! Me, Top 200 of the Heavenly Ranking! You, how many? What's your rank? I bet—not even Top 80,000, right? Hahaha!"
"Top... eighty... thousand..."
Ouch, that hurts! Like someone stabbed a knife straight into my heart!
The black muscle monster was getting creepier. His voice was soft and rambling, his eyes distant and gentle, his tone drifting and mysterious: "You know, your photos—the ones of you standing proud on the ring after conquering the world—I collected tons, tons and tons. I put them up in my bedroom, on my barbell, on my punching bag. Not a moment goes by without seeing you. I even made a mask just like yours. Every time I cross the Soul Rift, I take it with me. Guess what I do with that mask? You'll never guess, my dear Queen..."
Smack! Jill Young slapped her forehead, covering her face with her right hand. She was officially creeped out.
"Night Demon's mental state is unstable—he can't continue as team leader." The muscle monster rambled on, but the liaison officer kept it short. With the British military about to surround them, he issued a direct order: "Open fire. Kill them."
So, perched atop the bridge, Morpheus the Gunslinger silently and decisively pulled the trigger.
BONG!
With a unique shockwave sound, the roaring pulse shot straight out of the gun barrel, crossing over ten meters in a blink. The pulse moved at the speed of sound—no chance to dodge at that distance. Before the black muscle monster could even stop his rant, the pulse had already blasted under the bridge.
CRACK!
Flesh flew, bodies shattered, broken concrete was blasted to dust, and smoke and ash rose instantly in a deafening cloud. The shockwave instantly destroyed muscle, bone, and tissue—every body hit looked like a smashed packet of red sauce, painting the underside of London Bridge into a gruesome hellscape. Blood and concrete dust tangled in midair, swirling into a red mist that covered everything.
But Jill Young and her crew weren't in the mist—because Morpheus the Gunslinger hadn't shot at them at all, but at the Zade Family Werewolves surrounding them!
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"WHAT?!" The liaison officer was stunned.
"WHAT?!" Jonathan Black was stunned.
"WHAT?!" The muscle monster jerked his head up at Morpheus the Gunslinger—was this guy betraying them?
But Morpheus the Gunslinger was just as wide-eyed. He stared in terror at his gun hand—usually rock steady, but in that instant, it had veered off by a few degrees on its own. Morpheus spoke his first words of the night, sounding surprisingly young: "WHAT?!"
Then he saw red.
A nearly invisible thread appeared on his hand, piercing from palm to back, right through the webbing. When did this thread get here? Why didn't it hurt? How did he not notice? He didn't have time to think. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the thread red. The red crept downward, pointing straight at Jill Young, who was standing there like a berserk fighter from a video game.
Jill Young had a thread wrapped around her right index finger, her long hand covering her face so only her mouth was visible. And that mouth was twisted into an expression on the verge of going ballistic.
"I'm such an idiot... Why'd I let this moron stand here and yap...?"
The black muscle monster suddenly felt something was wrong. Sweat broke out all over his back. The feeling was so familiar—just like that time before. It was like a giant bell ringing in his head. Attack or run, whatever it was, he knew he had to do something—but he was already too late.
Smack! The hand on her forehead clenched into a fist and swung down in finality. Morpheus screamed, blood spraying as he fell from the bridge. His strange magic gun spun like a bird, whizzing toward Jill Young's outstretched left hand. But her right fist, in a single step—like teleportation—was already in front of the black monster's face.
The black muscle monster's eyes nearly burst. Before the punch even landed, its overwhelming force shook his brain, crashing through his mind so he couldn't dodge, couldn't fight back, couldn't defend. That fist blocked out his entire view, like a mountain crashing down. And behind the mountain, a pair of terrifying eyes—when he saw them, it was like the word "death" filled the whole sky above him.
In the next instant—BOOM! With a massive blast, Jill's fist smashed into the muscle monster's face. First, his skin rippled, then his teeth shattered, then his neck took a brutal hit, and finally, his brains got knocked out in a super crit.
Jonathan Black didn't see a thing—just heard an explosion, and the black muscle monster didn't even have time to scream before he went flying. He skipped like a stone three times across the wide Thames, then crashed into the opposite bank, becoming a lump of meat wedged deep in the rocks, stuck tight.
Light as a feather, Jill Young landed, left hand outstretched, and the magic gun flew obediently into her palm. She touched down without stirring a speck of dust, raised the gun, click—BONG! Two werewolves who hadn't figured out what was happening became splashes of paint on the ground.
With a flick of her finger—click, the magic gun reloaded. Jill Young stepped onto the water, gliding across the Thames like a goddess. Without even looking, she fired behind her—BONG! Two more werewolves, running for their lives, were turned to dust by the supersonic wave. No matter how strong a werewolf's regeneration, you can't come back from being turned into a puddle of blood.
The river surged, but it couldn't slow her down. In just a few steps, Jill Young crossed the wide Thames.
Gravel and dirt tumbled down from the cracks. The black muscle monster had reverted to his white-guy form. His insane vitality gave him an almost immortal body, but that punch had hurt him so badly that if he weren't so tough, any other werewolf or vampire would've been dead for good.
Creak, creak—he felt like his neck had been twisted around like a bolt, several times, before it finally straightened out. Then his vision spun, and he realized someone was grabbing him by the hair, lifting him up.
"I knew something felt off just now—this is how you're supposed to talk to someone." Jill Young yanked the white giant's head up to her face, her eyes half-closed. "Now, tell me—how do you use that mask?"
"Cough, cough..." Blood sprayed from his mouth, ribs shattered, airway crushed—speaking was nearly impossible. But the white giant suddenly grinned, crazed and hysterical: "It's simple... I find a woman who looks like you... dress her up like you... put on your mask... and then... hehehe... I take my time... enjoying her... bit by bit..."
WHAM! The huge gun barrel rammed into the giant's mouth—click—BONG!
"Hssssssssss—" Jill Young took a long, deep breath, then turned and walked back to the other bank.
"Big Boss," Jonathan Black asked, a little nervously. Jill looked fine now, but for some reason she was terrifying. "What do we do next?"
"Let's get the old man home first, then..." Jill Young smiled—a smile that was impossible to describe.
On the streets of London, inside an armored vehicle, the Tattooed Bald Bomber was panting heavily. Without new orders, he waited for Night Demon and Morpheus the Gunslinger to return victorious.
Creak—the car door opened. The Tattooed Bald Bomber turned to look, but broke out in a cold sweat, because it wasn't the muscle giant who walked in.
"Listen up, Baldie, I won't say this twice, so pay attention." Jill Young's eyes glimmered with a faint, intimidating light—her Absolute Vitality Suppression was just barely turned on. Towering over him, she patted his sweat-soaked face. "I_want_play_a_game... The name of this GAME is: All Perverts Must Die!!!"
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