In a secluded warehouse, an elderly tycoon stood with four bodyguards by his side.
"The goods are in my hands," the tycoon said sinisterly.
"Where's the money?" the bald man asked cautiously. In this line of work, trust was a luxury no one could afford.
The elderly tycoon shot a cold glance at his bodyguard and ordered, "Open it."
At his command, the bodyguard pressed a button. A high-intensity spotlight flared to life, illuminating a massive pile of cash stacked like a small mountain. Crisp, fresh bills gleamed under the harsh light, whispering promises of unimaginable wealth.
"Ten men, a total of 50 million dollars," the tycoon said.
The bald man and his team widened their eyes in greed, staring at the money as if mesmerized. Judging by his experience, the amount was likely even greater. Without hesitation, he pulled out a vial containing a precious formula, eager to complete the exchange.
But before the transaction could take place, a flash of cold steel sliced through the air.
A chilling sensation spread across the bald man's scalp. Warm liquid trickled down his face. In shock, he raised a hand to his head—only to find it slick with blood.
Before he could comprehend the situation, his body collapsed forward with a dull thud. His severed scalp rolled across the floor, finally stopping at the tycoon's feet.
The exposed brain matter gleamed under the light, an eerie sight that sent shivers down the spine.
"Perfectly clean cut. I might have a future as a hairstylist if I ever retire," Deadpool quipped, admiring his handiwork.
The elderly tycoon, who had lived a life of luxury, was unaccustomed to such gruesome scenes. His stomach churned violently, and he vomited his breakfast onto the floor.
"This guy wanted to double-cross you. Kill him," he rasped, still trembling.
The remaining mercenaries snapped out of their stupor, drawing their firearms and opening fire on Deadpool.
Gunfire erupted in the dim warehouse, lighting up the shadows. Amidst the bullets, silver blades flashed like lightning.
Deadpool moved with inhuman speed, weaving through the chaos like a specter. His katanas danced, carving through flesh with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed with every stroke, painting the walls in crimson streaks.
In mere moments, the mercenaries lay lifeless on the ground. Deadpool, riddled with bullet holes but unfazed, shook off the blood on his blades.
"Fifty million dollars… and these vials. I'm about to be filthy rich," he mused, grabbing a stack of cash and kissing it.
However, his excitement quickly faded when he noticed something amiss. The color of the bills seemed off.
Upon closer inspection, he realized that beneath the top layer of real cash, the rest were nothing but blank paper.
"Son of a—it's fake!" he cursed.
At that moment, a brilliant flash ignited before him.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the warehouse. Flames surged, engulfing everything in a fiery inferno.
Outside, the tycoon watched the burning warehouse with a twisted smile. Wiping his mouth clean, he sneered, "A bunch of lowlifes thinking they could get rich. Let them beg the devil in hell for their money."
Despite the unexpected mess, the result remained in his favor.
Clutching the stolen formula, his cloudy eyes gleamed with greed.
"With this formula and the Doctor of Youth, wealth and immortality will soon be mine. Hahaha!" His maniacal laughter echoed through the night.
But his triumph was premature.
From the blazing wreckage emerged a figure wreathed in flames. In his charred hands gleamed two katanas, and his skeletal face burned with rage.
"Hand over my money!" Deadpool's raspy voice growled, his lone surviving eye locking onto the tycoon.
The dream of becoming a billionaire had gone up in smoke, and the man who had stolen it from him was about to pay the price.
"K-Kill him! Kill him now!" the tycoon shrieked in terror.
His bodyguards fired their guns in panic. Bullets tore through Deadpool's flesh, sending chunks of charred meat flying—but he kept advancing, unstoppable.
Fear overtook the guards, and they turned to flee.
"You idiots! Take me with you!" the tycoon bellowed, struggling to follow.
A life spent manipulating others had not prepared him for a face-to-face encounter with death.
But by then, escape was no longer an option.
"You blew up my money!"
Deadpool's wicked grin was the last thing the tycoon saw before the katana swung toward his legs.
"I-I'll pay you! Whatever you want, it's yours!" the tycoon pleaded, shutting his eyes tight.
But the expected pain never came.
Instead, the sound of footsteps filled the air. When he opened his eyes, a man dressed in a ninja uniform stood over a headless corpse.
The tycoon barely had time to process what had happened before the ninja spoke.
"Come with us," he commanded coldly.
"Do you know who I am? How dare you speak to me like that!" the tycoon barked, mistaking them for allies.
Without a word, another ninja emerged from the shadows.
"Target neutralized. Mission complete," he reported.
"Take the tycoon to the base. Clean up the mess," their leader ordered.
"Yes, sir."
The tycoon finally realized these men were not his allies.
"Who are you people?" he demanded, fear creeping into his voice.
The second ninja seized him by the shoulder, dragging him into the darkness.
"I can pay you! Triple—no, five times whatever you're being offered!" he screamed in desperation, his voice raw with terror.
But his pleas fell on deaf ears.
As the last traces of his form sank into the shadows, the leader delivered a final, chilling message:
"His Majesty the Demon King thanks you for your contribution."
Quote:"Greed blinds even the wisest, until they fall into the abyss they dig for others."
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