But everything was in vain.
Bruce's eyes, once so full of intelligence and fear, began to turn a sickly, vibrant green. His breath grew ragged. Muscles tensed. Bones shifted and groaned with the sound of a shattering world. And in the next moment, his pupils vanished, consumed into a deep blackness that swallowed the whites of his eyes whole.
A hundred meters away, perched atop a nearby building, a man's forehead was drenched in cold sweat. The binoculars in his trembling hands slipped from his grasp. His mouth fell open, and in a furious voice, he roared, "Fuck! Fuck! Motherfucker! Cocksucker! The best shooter my ass!"
With a loud crash, he hurled the binoculars toward the sniper who still sat in stunned silence, barely reacting to the violence, lost in a daze.
"Boss… I—I don't know… The moment I pulled the trigger… my mind just… went blank," the sniper stuttered, his voice a disbelieving whisper.
"You useless fuck! We're screwed. Absolutely screwed now!" Andrew screamed, his voice raw with a blend of fury and terror.
And then—just as he spoke those words—it came.
A roar.
A deep, thunderous howl that tore through the very air itself, a sound that was less a noise and more a physical force. The sound shattered every glass window in the immediate area and made their eardrums nearly burst from the sheer pressure.
The Hulk had arrived.
He had already transformed by the time the roar echoed across the cityscape. His enormous green form emerged from the debris, his fury radiating like a heatwave. He stood tall, a towering monolith of muscle and rage, amidst the broken concrete and twisted steel. And then—
His eyes paused.
The Hulk's rage-filled gaze fell upon something, and a flicker of recognition passed through those burning green irises. There, among the ruins of the alley, lay a fat man. Bleeding. Still. Motionless. A ghost of a person.
A memory flashed. A distant, deeply buried fragment of Bruce Banner's humanity flickered behind the Hulk's monstrous frame, a fragile candle in a hurricane.
A low growl trembled through his throat, a sound of immense, unfocused pain.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"
Panic erupted like wildfire. Screams filled the narrow alleyways and dilapidated streets. People ran in every direction, a tide of terror—though strangely, not as many as one would expect for a densely packed part of the city.
Yet the Hulk didn't attack them. He didn't smash buildings at random. Instead, he turned.
He started walking.
East.
Guided not by vision or rage—but by an unconscious echo. Bruce Banner's final, panicked thoughts before the transformation had planted a destination in the creature's mind.
Far above, unnoticed by the terrified crowd below, a figure floated calmly in the air, his silhouette dark against the pale sky.
Elric.
His coat flapped lightly in the breeze as he watched the carnage unfold below, his expression unreadable, detached.
A mechanical voice buzzed into his earpiece, cold and efficient.
"Sir, current estimation indicates approximately 5,700 injuries and 61 confirmed deceased."
Elric's jaw tightened. "...More than we expected."
"Yes, sir," the voice responded—cold, efficient, emotionless. "Hulk's shockwaves are more destructive than my initial simulations calculated. He is more powerful than we assumed."
"Are you asking if I'm going to intervene?" Elric asked aloud, his voice sharp, cutting through the hum.
There was a pause.
"Yes, sir."
His face showed a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of hesitation—a moment of internal debate. But it only lasted for a moment. Then, his expression hardened into unyielding resolve.
"No," he said. "We continue as planned."
He had almost a month of preparation for this. To subtly influence all the people in this area. But because no one had chakra here, his power was more akin to a suggestion, a subtle nudge of the mind. Strong-willed people could directly ignore this, but fortunately, it worked on most people. So, with his deliberate guidance.
Most of the population had, for reasons they couldn't explain, instinctively avoided this sector today, a vague unease keeping them away. So even if the Hulk rampaged through half of Kolkata, through West Bengal and Bangladesh—there would be far fewer casualties than expected.
Property? Destroyed. Buildings? Crushed.
Lives? Mostly spared.
Elric's attention returned to the ground. To a half-collapsed building not far from the Hulk's initial burst of rage. He descended quietly, a silent shadow returning to the earth.
There, lying among the rubble, were the assassins. Two already appeared lifeless—crushed under debris. The others were breathing, barely, groaning in agony.
But Elric knew better.
But it was all just on the surface. When the Hulk went berserk, the four-story building where the assassins were standing had directly collapsed, so the chance of them surviving should have been very low. But Elric was here, so how could he let them die? If they died, who was going to reveal that this entire operation was orchestrated by General Ross? So, even if it looked like they were barely alive, it was just on the surface. Their life force was currently even stronger than a fully-grown elephant's. Even if someone stabbed them a hundred times, they wouldn't die—at least, not until all the excess vitality left by Elric was exhausted.
Elric stood silently among them for a moment. Then, with a turn of his heel, he rose back into the air.
The Hulk's trail was easy to follow—broken buildings, shattered roads, and overturned vehicles formed a path of green destruction. He had already torn through the border of Bhutan and was now heading deep into the unforgiving landscape of China.