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墨書 Inktalez
Mark looked down at the thug on the ground, who was now too weak to make a complete sound. The man clutched his battered legs with both hands, struggling on the ground as blood poured from his wounds, pooling beneath him in a crimson puddle. His eyes were filled with fear and despair, but Mark's cold gaze held no trace of sympathy.
He lifted one boot and pressed it forcefully against the man's chest, pushing him back down to the ground. The thug struggled, letting out a low moan from his throat as he tried to push Mark away, but he lacked the strength to move him even slightly. Mark's movements were decisive and swift; without hesitation, he moved his boot to the man's head.
"Bang!"
With a firm stomp, a dull cracking sound echoed through the air. The thug's skull was instantly crushed, brain matter and blood splattering everywhere, thick blood spreading across the floor like ink, a horrifying sight. Mark's boot was smeared with blood, yet he showed no sign of discomfort, his expression cold and stern as if what had just happened was merely part of his daily routine.
At that moment, a voice crackled in his earpiece—Cat 199 spoke with a hint of terror in his tone. Though his voice remained lighthearted, it was clearly laced with nausea. "Damn... Master Mark, you’re ruthless... This is too disgusting; brain matter is everywhere! This scene... ahh, I’m about to puke!"
Mark let out a cold laugh, seemingly amused by Cat 199's reaction, but his eyes remained icy. He wiped the blood off his boot onto the floor and looked around the devastated warehouse. Cat 199 spoke again, this time more serious: "Alright, don’t waste time; this warehouse needs to be completely destroyed—leave no trace behind, understand?"
Mark raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile curling at the corners of his mouth as he replied with a hint of chill in his tone, "Rest assured, I will."
He turned and walked deeper into the warehouse, fingers gliding lightly over his waist as he retrieved the remaining explosives and detonator. His steps were steady, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. The massacre was not yet over; its climax would be a hellish dance of flames and explosions.
Mark slowly approached the Hummer; the strong smell of blood and gunpowder hit him like a wave. The vehicle resembled a mobile slaughterhouse—its exterior riddled with bullet holes, windows shattered, and inside lay scattered chunks of flesh and traces of blood. A few corpses lay beside the car; some bodies were twisted and deformed, blood pooling like dark red lakes reflecting the flames burning outside the warehouse.
Mark glanced at the remains on the ground with an indifferent expression as if all of this had nothing to do with him. He stepped over the puddles of blood; his boots made faint "splat" sounds on the slick surface without him caring about the splatter that rose up. Reaching the car, he pulled open the door; it creaked painfully due to bullet damage and deformation as if lamenting this hellish scene one last time.
Inside the vehicle, the driver slumped against his seat, his chest riddled with bullet holes as blood flowed continuously from his wounds. Blood bubbles formed at the corners of his mouth; each ragged breath was accompanied by the sound of bubbles bursting. His eyes were half-opened and unfocused, showing that life was quickly slipping away. However, upon seeing Mark, there was a slight sharpening in his gaze—as if survival instinct had awakened at that last moment.
"Help... help me..." he rasped weakly, barely audible. His hand lifted shakily toward Mark but fell limply halfway due to exhaustion. His face bore helplessness and pleading—a captured beast that had given up struggling before death and chose instead to beg for mercy from its predator.
Mark stood by the car door, coldly watching the dying man. His face was expressionless, his eyes like a stagnant pool, with only his thin lips pressed tightly together, exuding an air of chilling cruelty. He stood there, looking down at the other man's painful struggles as if observing an inconsequential object.
After a moment, the corner of Mark's mouth suddenly curled up slightly, revealing a cold smile. His laughter was low and thick with mockery. His gaze grew even colder, and his tone dripped with sarcasm: "How ridiculous. In your final moments, you choose to beg for help from your enemy? No struggle, no retaliation—just like a dog extending its paw, pleading with me, the one who killed your companion, to save you? You really are a complete waste."
The driver's eyes flickered with a hint of shame, but more so with despair. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something more, but his chest heaved violently, blood clogging his throat. His mouth opened and closed without producing any sound, helplessly staring at the man before him.
Mark observed this scene with an even deeper sneer, as if he were expressing profound contempt for it. He raised his pistol, aiming it at the driver's head, his tone eerily calm: "Your only value is to serve as the final end to this slaughter."
"Bang!"
The gunshot echoed inside the Hummer, causing the remaining glass in the windows to rattle. The bullet pierced through the driver's skull, brain matter and blood splattering throughout the interior as if marking the most gruesome stroke of this massacre. The driver’s body slumped back lifelessly against the seat, his eyes frozen in their last moment of despair, devoid of any life.
Mark stood beside the Hummer, coldly glancing at the decapitated corpse of the driver before indifferently pushing it aside. The body thudded heavily to the ground, producing a dull sound; the blood left behind from the exploded head stained the seat with a vivid red mark, emanating a strong metallic scent.
He bent down to check the dashboard inside the car and then settled into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel and giving it a gentle turn. He inserted the key into the ignition and attempted to start the engine.
The Hummer's engine sounded like a tormented old man, emitting a few low grumbles: "Gah... gah-gah..." as if expressing dissatisfaction with its driver. However, after several struggles, it ultimately relented and successfully roared to life. The engine's growl resonated loudly in the quiet port night, almost like a harbinger of impending destruction.
A slight smile crept onto Mark's lips as he opened the car door and dumped explosives from his backpack into the vehicle. The bright yellow packaging piled up on the passenger seat higher and higher until it nearly covered it completely. Mark meticulously adjusted several explosives into optimal positions so that each could unleash maximum power upon detonation.
"Perfect," he murmured softly to himself with a hint of satisfaction. He stepped back to inspect his work before reaching out to shift gears into "D."
Then he took out one last explosive from his backpack and deftly placed it firmly on the gas pedal. The engine growled lowly as the Hummer began to move forward slowly, like a silent yet deadly steel beast heading straight toward the burning warehouse.
Mark calmly stepped back a few paces, standing quietly in a narrow alley beside the warehouse. His figure faded into the darkness as the Hummer rolled up to the blazing warehouse, its body illuminated by the flames like a chariot from hell. Mark's gaze was cold, his hands tucked into his pockets, betraying no hint of emotion.
The sea beside the port was pitch black, with only the occasional waves lapping against the shore, producing a deep sound like some unknown demon whispering in the night. The darkness and the boundless silence of the deep sea enveloped this chaotic battlefield, as if guarding the revelry of violence and death.
"Everything will be buried in this darkness," Mark said softly, his tone cold and resolute.
As the Hummer drew closer to the warehouse, engulfed by thick smoke and flames in an instant, a faint smile crept onto Mark's lips as he gently pressed the button on the detonator.
"Boom—!"
A deafening explosion shattered the night sky, and the Hummer was instantly transformed into a massive fireball. The force of the blast lifted the entire warehouse into the air. The shockwave swept through the surroundings, carrying debris and flames, causing the ground of the port to tremble as if bidding a final farewell to this destruction.
Mark stood at the mouth of the alley, his back to the explosion's light, his shadow stretching long while his body remained motionless. The dark sea undulated silently, gradually swallowing the port's flames and smoke, allowing this night of violence and chaos to ultimately fade into silent darkness.
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