The nearby mutants, who had been watching the spectacle with eager anticipation, immediately fell silent when they witnessed Gillian's humiliating retreat.
Some had pressed themselves against the walls, while others quietly slipped back into their homes as the whispers spread through the crowd and curious eyes continued to follow the group from a cautious distance.
They were trying to understand what could possibly be so terrifying about these newcomers that even someone like Gillian had been forced to flee after receiving nothing more than a cold, indifferent stare from the tall, pale-skinned man with long black hair.
What kind of person could inspire such fear without even lifting a finger?
The onlookers exchanged uneasy glances, each arriving at more or less the same conclusion.
This group was not to be trifled with.
Meanwhile, Brant watched Gillian disappear into the crowd, his expression darkening slightly.
Steven had scared away his prey.
He had finally found someone convenient enough to test the improvements brought about by the serum, yet Steven had ruined the opportunity before Brant could even get started.
'What a nuisance' He thought inwardly.
Nevertheless, although Brant was inwardly irritated, he didn't openly complain. His annoyance was just a little more than frustration over a spoiled opportunity. It certainly wasn't enough to make him foolish enough to challenge Steven over something so trivial.
He wasn't that stupid.
Steven, having successfully frightened away the pathetic troublemaker, turned his attention back to the group. And almost immediately, he noticed the puzzled expression on One's face.
Seeing the boy staring thoughtfully in Gillian's direction, Steven couldn't help feeling confused.
"One, why the puzzled expression?" he asked. "Is something bothering you?"
The bewilderment in his voice was unmistakable.
One turned toward him and asked without hesitation, "Why didn't you fight him? You could've easily killed him."
Steven paused.
Before he could respond, One briefly glanced around to make sure no one was paying too much attention. Then, lowering his voice so that only Steven could hear, he continued.
"You know I'm still short of corpses for my serum experiments. If you want me to produce more serums, I'll need a lot more bodies to work with."
His tone was as matter-of-fact as ever, as though discussing the collection of corpses were no different from gathering ordinary experimental materials.
Only after hearing this explanation did Steven finally understand the source of One's confusion.
For a moment, he fell silent, considering the boy's words. Then he answered in a low, serious voice.
"We're new here. We haven't even figured out how this Sanctuary operates, let alone understood the relationships between its various factions. There's no point getting involved in unnecessary confrontations before we know what we're dealing with."
He briefly glanced in the direction Gillian had fled.
"Besides, that fellow isn't going anywhere. Once we've settled down and learned a little more about this place, I'll find him and deal with him properly."
One listened without interrupting.
When Steven finished speaking, the boy merely shrugged, his expression returning to its usual neutrality. Apparently, he had no particular objection to the decision.
Since Steven had promised to deal with the matter later, there was little reason for him to waste any more thought on it.
After all, whether they collected the corpses now or later made little difference to him.
What mattered was obtaining enough experimental material to continue his research.
Meanwhile, from his concealed vantage point, Talon had watched the entire incident unfold with the interest of a spectator enjoying an entertaining performance.
However, as Gillian retreated in disgrace, the amusement gradually vanished from his face.
His expression darkened, and a barely suppressed fury began to twist his features.
Although Gillian was a relatively weak mutant by Talon's standards, he was still one of his subordinates.
And now, that subordinate had been frightened into fleeing by nothing more than a single look.
The humiliation was unbearable.
To Talon, the incident was no longer simply a failed attempt to test the newcomers. It was an insult to his authority and reputation.
What would happen if the newcomers eventually settled down, began asking questions, and discovered that the pathetic coward who had just run away was one of his men?
The mere thought made his expression grow uglier.
How would the other scavengers react? What about his followers? If word spread that one of his subordinates had been reduced to such a miserable state without even putting up a fight, wouldn't everyone begin to question his ability to control his own people?
Worse still, someone might even mistake his silence for weakness.
No.
He couldn't allow that to happen.
Talon's eyes narrowed as he watched the place where Gillian had disappeared into the crowd.
That fool had already embarrassed himself. If he remained under Talon's command, he would only continue dragging his reputation through the mud.
Perhaps it was time to deal with the problem before it grew any worse.
After all, a subordinate who couldn't even intimidate a newcomer, and who had instead brought humiliation upon his superior was hardly worth protecting.
Talon's jaw tightened.
He had initially intended to use Gillian to test the newcomers.
Now, he was beginning to consider whether Gillian himself needed to become the price of that test.
Having made up his mind, Talon immediately left the shadowy corner where he had been hiding and observing the newcomers.
He moved through a series of narrow, winding passageways concealed between the settlement's crumbling buildings. The routes were complicated and difficult to navigate, known only to those familiar with the settlement's less frequented corners. After several turns, he finally arrived at an abandoned building that had been half-destroyed by time and neglect.
The structure radiated a gloomy, decaying atmosphere. Cracked walls leaned precariously beneath a collapsed roof, while the foul stench of corrupted creature blood seeped from within, mingling with the musty smell of damp stone and rotting materials.
Talon barely spared the place a glance.
The moment he reached the entrance, he kicked the door open with enough force to send it crashing against the wall.
"GILLIAN!"
His furious roar reverberated through the abandoned building.
No response came.
Talon's expression darkened further. He waited a moment longer, then shouted the name again, his voice carrying an unmistakable threat.
"GILLIAN!"
Still, there was no answer.
He clicked his tongue impatiently before changing his approach. Lowering his voice, he called out with deceptive calmness.
"Come out, you rat. I know you're in here. Get your ass over here right now."
Several seconds passed before he finally heard movement from somewhere deeper inside the building.
Gillian had been hiding, desperately hoping that his superior might eventually lose interest and leave. But as Talon's increasingly threatening voice echoed through the structure, the miserable mutant gradually realized that there was no escaping his fate.
With trembling limbs and a face drained of color, he cautiously emerged from his hiding place.
The instant Talon heard his approaching footsteps, his body moved.
Despite his enormous frame, the muscular mutant crossed the distance with terrifying speed. Before Gillian could even react, Talon's thick hand had closed around his throat, lifting him just enough to make struggling difficult.
"You rat!" Talon snarled, glaring at him with undisguised contempt. "What the hell happened back there? You're my dog! How could you behave in such a disgraceful, embarrassing manner in front of those strangers?"
Gillian struggled to breathe, his clawed fingers instinctively reaching for the massive hand around his neck.
Talon held him there for another moment before abruptly releasing his throat. However, rather than allowing him to retreat, he moved his thick right arm behind Gillian's head and planted his large hand against the back of his skull.
His expression became even more vicious.
"You know how much I hate cowardly dogs who disgrace their masters, don't you?"
The words came out almost conversationally, but the menace behind them was unmistakable.
Gillian's fear intensified the moment he felt Talon's heavy, veined arm resting against the back of his head. He knew that gesture all too well.
He understood what was coming.
"B-Boss, please!" he stammered, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "I beg you! I was just a little scared! Please, give me another chance! I'll prove myself! I'll do anything you ask!"
His knees weakened as he pleaded desperately, tears gathering in his eyes.
"Please, boss! I won't disappoint you again!"
Talon stared at him for several seconds.
Then, with a look of utter disgust, he spat a thick stack of phlegm onto the cracked floor.
"Tch. Useless."
Before Gillian could utter another word, he felt the arm behind his head begin to heat up.
At first, it was merely an uncomfortable warmth.
Then the temperature climbed rapidly, becoming unbearably hot. The heat seeped through his skin, and the air around Talon's forearm began to shimmer as though an invisible furnace had been ignited beneath his flesh.
Gillian's eyes widened in absolute terror.
He opened his mouth to scream then
BANG!
His head immediately exploded in an instant.
Blood and fragments of bone sprayed across the ruined interior, splattering the cracked walls and floor. Gillian's body crumpled beneath Talon's hand, collapsing into a motionless heap.
For a brief moment, the entire building seemed to hold its breath.
Then silence descended.
The sharp, metallic stench of blood mingled with the smell of scorched flesh. Wisps of steam rose faintly from the ruined remains as blood spread across the cracked pavement, slowly pooling in the gaps between the broken stones.
The sound of the explosion lingered in Talon's memory, the sudden burst of flesh, the violent crack of shattered bone, and the abrupt end of Gillian's desperate pleading.
Yet instead of feeling remorse, Talon experienced a sudden surge of exhilaration.
A strange, intoxicating pleasure washed through him, momentarily drowning out the anger and humiliation that had been gnawing at him since the encounter with the newcomers.
The thick, vein-like patterns running along his powerful arms began to pulse beneath his skin. A faint bubbling sound stirred deep within his forearms, as though something hot and volatile were circulating through his flesh.
The surrounding air shimmered.
It was as if invisible flames were licking at the edges of his body, and a faint scent of scorched iron gradually spread through the abandoned building.
Talon stood motionless amid the carnage, savoring the sensation as the turbulent energy coursing through him slowly subsided.
The brutal execution had done little to resolve the underlying problem, but it had provided him with a temporary outlet for the emotions he had been suppressing.
Eventually, he exhaled, a thin wisp of steam escaping between his fingers.
The bubbling beneath his skin gradually quieted, although the prominent veins along his arms remained faintly illuminated.
Talon lowered his gaze toward Gillian's lifeless body.
What an utterly disappointing dog.
He had never particularly valued Gillian. The man was weak, replaceable, and hardly worth remembering under ordinary circumstances. Nevertheless, there was a difference between being weak and openly humiliating the person one served.
Talon could tolerate incompetence. What he could not tolerate was cowardice that reflected badly upon him.
Slowly closing his eyes, he replayed the earlier confrontation in his mind.
Above all, he remembered the tall, pale-skinned man with long black hair.
That single gaze of his earlier had carried an oppressive, intimidating force that had gotten under Talon's skin. Even from a distance, the man's composure and overwhelming presence had been enough to make Gillian abandon his bravado and flee.
Talon's jaw tightened at the memory.
Truthfully, he did not entirely blame Gillian for being frightened. Whatever that man possessed, it was clearly no ordinary ability. Even Talon could recognize that provoking someone without understanding their strength was foolish.
But that wasn't what had angered him most.
It was the manner in which Gillian had fled.
The coward hadn't even attempted to maintain his composure. He hadn't tried to retreat with dignity, offer an excuse, or preserve the slightest appearance of confidence.
Instead, he had run like a terrified animal, abandoning every shred of pride associated with being one of Talon's men.
And that was unforgivable.
Talon had built his reputation through strength, intimidation, and the unwavering obedience of those beneath him. His followers might be weaker than he was, but their behavior reflected upon their master. When they acted confidently, others were more inclined to respect him. When they disgraced themselves, that humiliation inevitably spread to him as well.
He would not allow that to happen.
Never.
Talon slowly opened his eyes, his gaze settling on the bloodstained floor.
That pathetic display had genuinely enraged him. The thought of the newcomers looking down on him because of one of his subordinate's cowardice was enough to reignite his fury.
His thick fingers curled into fists.
The newcomers had already made an impression on the settlement. Their strength remained unknown, their intentions unclear, and their leader's capabilities were still a mystery.
Talon understood that much.
But he also knew one thing with absolute certainty.
He would not permit anyone to mistake his restraint for weakness, or allow the shame of a useless subordinate to stain his name.
If the newcomers intended to establish themselves in this Sanctuary, then sooner or later, their paths would cross again.
And when that happened, Talon intended to make certain that no one would dare look down on him.
Talon slowly began imagining what a confrontation between himself and the tall, pale-skinned man(Steven) would look like.
He replayed the earlier encounter in his mind, carefully recalling Steven's composure, his cold gaze, and the effortless manner in which he had frightened Gillian into retreating.
Steven's behavior had revealed something important.
Although that tall, and burly bald man(Marco) had initially appeared to be the group's most prominent figure, his departure had left Steven in charge of the others. The way Steven carried himself, along with the unquestionable authority he displayed, suggested that he was the group's current leader, or at least the person responsible for handling matters in Marco's absence.
That alone was enough to tell Talon that Steven was no ordinary mutant.
Anyone capable of commanding such a group without needing to raise his voice or explain himself was unlikely to be weak. And the fact that Gillian had been reduced to a trembling coward by nothing more than a glance made the situation even more intriguing.
Nevertheless, Talon wasn't afraid.
He was simply being cautious.
There was a difference between recognizing a potential threat and being intimidated by it, and Talon had survived far too much to confuse the two.
He had no intention of underestimating Steven, but neither did he believe that he would necessarily lose if the two of them ever came to blows.
After all, Talon hadn't survived this long by relying solely on appearances.
Before the Inkforce Pollution transformed the world into a nightmare, he had been nothing more than a low-ranking thug working for a small city's mafia.
His life had revolved around breaking bones for the gang, collecting debts from unwilling victims, and using violence and intimidation to ensure that people understood the consequences of crossing the wrong person.
He had never been particularly important in the criminal underworld. He was simply one of countless disposable men who carried out the dirty work that more powerful people preferred to avoid.
But even back then, he had learned how the world truly worked.
Power wasn't something people simply handed to you. Wealth wasn't obtained without risk, and respect rarely came without fear. More often than not, those who wanted to climb higher had to step over someone else along the way.
Every day had been a struggle to survive, a constant balancing act along the thin line separating life from death.
One wrong decision could leave him bleeding in an alley. One moment of hesitation could allow a rival to put a knife between his ribs. And showing weakness to the wrong person could turn him from a useful subordinate into an expendable liability.
Talon had understood that brutality long before the world fell apart.
The Inkforce Pollution hadn't taught him how to survive in a cruel world.
It had merely given him the opportunity to become one of its predators.