Inside Eteon, not everyone was united.
The organization was built on a web of power and profit, and where there was profit, there were factions.
Anyone with even a shred of ability acted like they were the king of the world.
Even when sent on missions together, rivalries brewed just under the surface.
Take Wadia, for example.
He had wanted the vanguard position, the honor of leading the strike force, replacing Jilong's role.
That way, he would be the one to claim the glory.
But Jilong had stolen the spot first, and Wadia fumed.
To him, Jilong hadn't earned it with skill—he'd gotten there through connections. Watching him strut around giving orders made Wadia's stomach churn.
And worse, Wadia himself had been shoved into a rear position.
Jilong framed it as "holding the final defensive line," but everyone knew the truth:
He wanted his own lackeys in the front to rack up merit while Wadia sat in the back eating dust.
It burned him.
After all, his marksmanship, tactics, and close-quarters combat were leagues above Jilong's.
Yet here he was, left behind, smoking and idle while others took credit.
Anyone in his shoes would be pissed.
At first, he thought Leon was dead for sure. But then he received the call—Leon had broken through.
And now, Leon was coming his way.
Wadia blinked. For Leon to make it this far was shocking.
"So much for Jilong's command. Can't even stop a damn mechanic," he sneered.
Out loud, it sounded like he was mocking Jilong's incompetence.
But really, it was also a jab at Leon—belittling him as nothing more than a garage grease monkey.
"That's right, boss. Jilong's nothing compared to you," one of his men said.
"West Coast 'Car God'? What a joke," another added. "That kind of title is child's play."
"In Eteon, we've got plenty of so-called car gods."
"Boss Wadia has crushed more racers than we can count."
His underlings showered him with flattery, mocking Leon while inflating Wadia's ego.
In their eyes, Leon's survival wasn't proof of skill—it was Jilong's incompetence that had let him slip by.
If Leon had faced Wadia instead, there'd have been no chance.
Wadia puffed his chest. If he claimed to be the second-best in the universe, nobody would dare ask who the first was.
"Heh, I'll show him what happens when he tries to pass my checkpoint! Hahaha!" Wadia laughed, his arrogance overflowing.
To him, his spiked barricade trucks were unbeatable.
Even if Leon rammed them, it would be suicide.
"A worthless mechanic," Wadia spat. "Racing isn't for the likes of you!"
To him, Leon was nothing more than a low-class repairman, someone who belonged under a hood, not behind the wheel of a hypercar.
Daring to challenge Eteon was a disgrace in itself.
Then came the sound.
From far off, the roar of an engine, deeper and more violent than thunder, surged across the road.
It wasn't a car—it was a beast of the prehistoric age, charging straight at them.
"He's coming! Get ready!" Wadia barked, snapping his men to alert.
Ten armed subordinates crouched behind the barricades, guns raised, waiting.
They assumed a "mechanic's car" couldn't be that fast.
Naïve thought.
Because the very next second, reality slapped them across the face.
From the bend up ahead, a black silhouette exploded into view.
At first, they thought it had oversteered—no way it could hold the line at that speed.
But then it corrected perfectly, slicing out of the curve dead-center, hugging the ideal racing line.
And then, it accelerated.
The Diomas Nilo roared, black paint glinting like a predator's hide, and its velocity spiked to insanity.
It wasn't fast—it was faster than fast.
Bullets were slow compared to this.
Hell, this thing moved like a missile tearing across the road.
Their jaws dropped.
Hands holding rifles trembled. Fingers froze on triggers.
They were too stunned to even shoot.
Just seconds ago, they had mocked Leon as a "garage monkey."
Just seconds ago, they had laughed about his "slow little car."
Just seconds ago, they had called him garbage.
Now?
Now, the "mechanic" was piloting a missile straight at them.
If that car struck, anyone in its path would be sent flying a hundred meters or more.
"My god—this isn't a car, it's a plane crash-landing!" one shouted.
"My legs—my legs won't move!" another stammered.
"Save me!"
"How the hell are we supposed to stop that?!"
The bravado drained from them instantly, leaving only fear. Half their will to fight evaporated before the battle even began.
Standing in the path of the Diomas Nilo's charge? That required courage no man here possessed.
"Bastards! Shoot! Fire, damn it!" Wadia bellowed, veins bulging with fury.
His soldiers, so bold minutes ago, had turned into trembling cowards.
How could his men be so useless?
They made him look like a fool.
"Fire!!!" Wadia screamed, pulling the trigger himself.
His submachine gun roared, spitting fire, a storm of bullets raining at the oncoming car.
The others finally followed, unleashing a deafening hailstorm.
Spent shells clattered on the ground as barrels smoked from the heat.
But the Diomas Nilo didn't slow.
Not a scratch.
Not even a crack in its bulletproof glass.
"Impossible!!" Wadia's eyes went wide, his soul nearly leaving his body.
Even the strongest armored vehicles couldn't withstand sustained fire from ten SMGs without so much as a spiderweb crack in their windows.
But this car? This car shrugged it off like raindrops.
What kind of machine were they facing?!
Desperation clawed at him. Wadia kept firing, then yanked out a sidearm, adding more futile rounds.
"Bring out the grenade launchers! Use the damn launchers!!" he roared in panic.
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