As the flames from the explosion faded, the gang members craned their necks, trying to spot a body in the smoke.
Then a white figure burst out.
Anqiluo.
Still clad in bone armor.
This time, he didn't give them a chance to react.
He swung the bone staff straight down at the thug who had fired the RPG, smashing into his shoulder with extra force.
He was still annoyed.
He hadn't dodged in time earlier and had taken the hit head-on. It hadn't hurt him, but the smoke and dust had been choking.
"Cheap shot," he muttered under his breath, speaking in a language none of them understood as the staff moved in a blur.
A scream tore through the street.
"My arm—!"
"It's broken!"
"Run!"
The collapse started with the leader's scream.
One strike had shattered his arm, tearing flesh along with it.
They couldn't hurt him.
He wore bone armor.
And he muttered in an unknown language.
To them, it sounded like something inhuman.
Panic spread instantly.
After venting some frustration, Anqiluo deliberately eased up.
There was no need to kill them.
Once the group scattered, he only chased down a few, breaking their legs before moving on.
These weren't the ones in charge.
Not worth his time.
"Alexei! I'm here!"
He arrived at the residence of his first target.
Security was tight.
Two modified pickup trucks were parked outside, each mounted with a heavy machine gun. More than a dozen armed men stood guard.
Alexei was the largest illegal arms dealer in Hell's Kitchen.
A tough first choice.
A tall, bald Russian man stepped forward from behind the crowd, a cigar clenched between his teeth.
"You the priest?" Alexei frowned. "You're the one who hurt my people?"
A stretcher was carried forward.
The injured gang leader lay on it, his shoulder crudely wrapped in bandages.
"He shot me with an RPG," Anqiluo said calmly. He stopped walking. "I'll give you a chance. I'm a priest of Rasuma. Want to convert?"
Alexei laughed.
Cold. Dangerous.
"Maybe you've got some tricks," he said, his voice rising into a roar. "But who the hell do you think you are?"
"Open fire!"
The heavy machine guns roared to life.
Flames spat from the barrels as bullets swept toward Anqiluo like a blazing whip. The rest of the gunmen joined in, firing everything they had.
The building across the street was shredded in seconds, riddled with holes.
It looked like it had been cut in half.
Anqiluo could have dodged.
But he didn't.
There was no need.
He was here to break them.
Through the stunned eyes of the gunmen, he walked forward into the storm of bullets.
They kept firing, almost out of instinct.
Twenty meters.
Ten.
Five.
Then—
He swung.
The machine gunner on one of the trucks screamed as his leg snapped under the blow, collapsing to the ground.
That was when the others snapped out of it.
Too late.
Anqiluo charged into the crowd.
Bone cracked.
Men screamed.
A few scattered gunshots rang out, but they meant nothing.
He moved through them like something out of a nightmare.
Every strike broke something.
Every touch left someone crippled.
As he passed the earlier gang leader, he "accidentally" stepped on his other arm.
A clean snap.
When the street finally went quiet again, Anqiluo stood over Alexei, one foot pressing down on his arm.
He smiled.
"So? Want to convert?"
Alexei's face twisted with anger and pain.
"You win," he said through clenched teeth. "Take what you want. Don't humiliate me."
He didn't believe for a second this man had come just to preach.
In this world, things were simple.
The winner took everything.
The loser lost everything.
Anqiluo shook his head, impatient.
Talking didn't work with people like this.
He pressed down harder.
Crack.
"Convert," he said flatly. "Or I kill you."
Alexei's face went pale, sweat pouring down his forehead.
But he didn't scream.
"…That's it?" he asked, forcing the words out.
"Then I'll convert."
Anqiluo finally lifted his foot.
Satisfied.
"Good. Be at Rasuma Church tomorrow morning. You all need to confess."
He paused, then added casually,
"Bring a one-million-dollar donation. If you don't… I'll come back."
He checked the time.
Still had more stops to make.
As he turned to leave, he suddenly looked back.
"See? No need for violence. We're all civilized people here."
Then he walked off.
Alexei lay there, staring at the ground, his expression frozen.
Around him, his men were scattered across the street, groaning.
Civilized?
No violence?
He almost laughed.
Tonight had cost him heavily.
Aside from the unlucky man who lost both arms, most of these men were his core force.
They needed to recover.
Until then, he didn't have anyone reliable left.
All he could do now was hope that Anqiluo would visit the other gangs the same way.
Otherwise, he'd be wide open.
Meanwhile, Anqiluo's progress went smoother than expected.
Every time he arrived at a new gang's territory, things were… different.
No gunfire.
No resistance.
The boss would be waiting at the door.
Before he could even speak—
"I believe! I believe!" the gang leader would say immediately. "I've been a loyal follower of Rasuma since I was a kid! Rasuma forever!"
Every single one of them.
The same script.
Anqiluo stared at them like he'd just seen something impossible.
Where was their pride?
How did people like this become leaders?
Lifelong followers?
What a joke.
Rasuma wasn't even a god.
He was the priest of Rasuma. A Necromancer.
If you didn't know that, how would you even know the name?
Seeing his silence, the gang leaders panicked.
They quickly added that they would bring one million dollars to the church the next morning.
Since they were cooperating, Anqiluo had no reason to hit them.
This continued…
Until he reached a gang leader involved in Eastern European smuggling.