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墨書 Inktalez
The thugs saw the Machine Gunner on the Hummer collapse, and chaos erupted. That machine gun was their greatest reliance; once they lost firepower, the entire battle would tilt toward an irretrievable direction. Several thugs immediately shouted and rushed toward the Hummer. Some climbed onto the roof, grabbing the unconscious Machine Gunner and roughly pulling him away from the gunner's seat, attempting to regain control of the firepower.
"Get on the gun! Suppress that bastard!" one thug yelled, his face filled with urgency and fear.
However, before the thug could steady himself in the gunner's position, a sharp gunshot pierced through the thick smoke.
"Bang!"
The first bullet struck the thug's shoulder with precision. His body jolted violently, pain causing his movements to freeze for a moment. Then came the second and third shots, hitting his abdomen and chest in succession. Blood spewed from his mouth as despair and unwillingness flashed in his eyes. The final bullet penetrated his skull, splattering blood and brain matter everywhere. His lifeless body fell heavily from the Hummer, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
"Covering fire! Covering fire!" another thug attempted to regain command, his voice trembling with panic. However, his orders came too late; control of the battlefield had long since slipped from their grasp.
Amidst the smoke and flames, a swift figure approached like a specter. His steps were quick and steady, each one carrying a sense of lethal pressure. It was a silhouette—a killer wielding a shotgun—Mark. Cold murderous intent burned in his eyes as a sinister smile crept across his lips.
"Time to end this." His voice was low and ruthless as he decisively pulled the trigger of the shotgun.
"Bang!"
The deafening gunshot echoed, and at close range, few could withstand the shotgun's power. The first round struck a thug squarely in the chest. The immense impact sent his body flying backward, crashing against the Hummer with blood and shattered ribs scattering everywhere. By the time his corpse hit the ground, it had twisted into an unrecognizable shape.
Seeing this scene, other thugs recoiled in terror; some even screamed amidst the gunfire. But Mark offered them no respite. He did not pause for a moment; the shotgun's muzzle constantly shifted direction, and with every pull of the trigger, another thug fell.
"Bang! Bang!"
Blood mist filled the air as severed limbs and bodies littered the ground. Mark's movements were precise and rapid; he weaved through his enemies like an unstoppable beast. At such close range, the shotgun's firepower was nearly devastating, leaving the thugs utterly defenseless.
"What in the hell is that thing!" someone screamed as they tried to flee, but just as they turned around, they were hit in the back by a shotgun blast, collapsing to the ground in convulsions.
Several thugs watched as Mark moved like a specter through the thick smoke and flames, their fear and anger intertwining. The gunfire in their hands gradually ceased—their bullets had run out. They exchanged glances; although fear lingered in their hearts, it was overshadowed by anger and the instinct to survive. They shouted in rage, tossing their guns to the ground, drawing knives or charging at Mark with bare fists, attempting to regain the upper hand through close combat.
Mark regarded their reckless actions with a hint of disdain. Calmly, he raised his shotgun, aiming at the first thug rushing toward him, and without hesitation, pulled the trigger.
"Bang!"
The shotgun unleashed its devastating power at close range, tearing apart the thug's chest. Blood and entrails splattered everywhere as his body fell to the ground like a marionette with severed strings, twitching a few times before lying still.
Before the next thug could close in, Mark swiftly pulled back the shotgun, gripping the barrel with his left hand while firmly holding the stock with his right. He swung the stock forcefully to the right. A knife-wielding thug had just lunged at him when he was struck on the head by this blow.
"Bang!"
The stock hit solidly, creating a deep dent in the thug's skull as blood and brain matter erupted forth. His body flew backward like a broken post, crashing heavily to the ground, limbs limp and motionless.
At that moment, a third thug charged from Mark's left side, a smug grin plastered across his face as if he believed he had found an opening. He lunged at Mark, hands reaching for his shoulders in an attempt to take him down.
"I've got you now, you lunatic!" the thug roared, his face filled with a delusion of victory.
However, Mark smirked coldly, his eyes glinting with mockery and ice. With sudden force, he pushed hard, sending the thug staggering backward a few steps, losing his balance.
Seizing the opportunity, Mark lunged forward and grabbed the man by his collar effortlessly. Fear flickered in the thug's eyes as he realized he had underestimated this man's strength and ruthlessness.
"You want to tackle me?" Mark said coldly, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm. Then he yanked hard, pulling the thug close and using him as a human shield.
At that moment, sporadic gunfire erupted from outside the warehouse as several thugs attempted to suppress Mark's actions once more. Bullets rained down but struck only the human shield. The body convulsed violently under the onslaught, blood gushing forth like a burst pipe while Mark stood unwaveringly in place, coldly watching as the thug gradually lost life.
When his body was completely paralyzed, Mark unhesitatingly dropped the corpse to the ground and adjusted the position of his shotgun, his gaze cold and focused. A chilling smirk curled at the corners of his mouth as he stepped forward to face the next wave of enemies, resuming his deadly march.
Mark charged out of the warehouse with relentless speed, his footsteps swift as the wind. His shotgun fired continuously; with each pull of the trigger, a gang member fell. The firepower was immense, and after emptying a magazine, he discarded the shotgun without hesitation, drawing a pistol from his waist. He swiftly aimed and fired, accurately taking down any enemies that dared to approach him.
Just as a thug peeked out from behind cover, before he could react, Mark's pistol let out a sharp "bang!" The bullet struck the thug's forehead, blood splattering against the wall behind him. The man's eyes lost their light in an instant as he collapsed lifelessly.
The pistol's ammunition soon ran dry, and Mark had no time to reload. He reached down to pick up a fallen rifle from the ground, quickly chambering a round and seamlessly continuing his assault. Bullets flew from his hands with precision; each shot claimed another enemy's life. His movements were fluid and efficient, as if he were a mechanical instrument of death, executing each action with calculated precision.
As Mark advanced, the number of gang members visibly dwindled. The surviving thugs began to feel fear; their eyes no longer burned with anger and hatred but were instead filled with deep dread. They retreated continuously, their weapons trembling in their hands, making it difficult to aim steadily.
"What... what is he?! Why can't we kill him?!" Panic filled one thug's voice as his hands shook uncontrollably, unable to steady his aim.
"Don't back down! We have numbers; we can overwhelm him!" another thug attempted to rally their spirits, but his voice lacked the confidence it once had; even he doubted whether such words could become reality.
Mark advanced mercilessly, his steps steady and resolute. His gaze was as cold as iron, devoid of any unnecessary expression—like an emotionless war machine. He switched weapons fluidly—from shotgun to pistol to rifle—each movement executed with impeccable precision, without a hint of hesitation.
Though armed with powerful firepower, the thugs felt like they were facing an unbeatable demon. Their bullets whizzed toward Mark, but he dodged with agility, seemingly predicting the trajectory of each shot. His figure flickered through smoke and flames; every appearance meant another life extinguished.
"He’s not human at all..." someone whispered despairingly. These gang members had once roamed shadow City without fear, but now they faced an unstoppable demon—an opponent that could not be defeated regardless of their numbers or firepower.
With every step Mark took, he trampled on their fear; his march brought death and destruction. He coldly regarded these thugs, devoid of any pity in his eyes. To him, they were merely obstacles in his path; all he needed to do was eliminate them without hesitation until he reached his goal.
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