At the pier, the sound of the intense firefight came to a sudden halt.
Whether it was Kingpin's men or the remaining Russians, everyone looked as if they had been hit by a pause button, stiffly turning their heads to gaze at the blood-soaked sedan.
The air, which had previously only been filled with the salty tang of gunpowder and sea breeze, was now thick with a sickening stench of blood.
Peter shook the filth off his fists, his eyes as calm as a bottomless spring.
His gaze slowly swept across everyone present.
Wherever his gaze landed, those present felt a chill rush from the soles of their feet to the crowns of their heads, their hair standing on end!
"The boss is dead!"
"Fire! Kill him!!"
Someone let out a desperate roar, breaking the deathly silence.
The remaining Russians snapped out of it, fear instantly overwhelming their reason. They instinctively turned their guns and frantically poured fire toward Peter!
"Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat—!"
Dense tongues of fire wove a great net in the dark night, as countless bullets whistled toward Peter.
Facing this hail of bullets, Peter didn't feel panicked; instead, a trace of excitement surfaced in his eyes.
Come on! Let me see where my limits are!
In the next second, Peter moved!
His figure turned into a blurred afterimage amidst the hail of bullets, dodging and weaving with a speed and trajectory that completely defied physical common sense.
These bullets, capable of tearing through steel plates, couldn't even touch the hem of his clothes!
"How... is this possible?"
One Russian's expression turned from ferocious to dull. He kept trying to pull the trigger, but could only hear the clicking of an empty chamber.
The bullets... had unknowingly run out long ago!
Just as he finally realized this and began fumbling for the magazine at his waist, Peter appeared before him like a ghost:
"Too slow."
An indifferent voice rang in his ear, like the sentence of the Shinigami.
Splatter!
The Russian looked down in bewilderment.
He saw a hand pierce through his chest without resistance, emerging from his back.
In that palm, it held a heart that was still slightly beating.
Squish~
In the next second, the heart shattered, and blood gushed out like a fountain.
Peter pulled his hand out expressionlessly, letting the heartless corpse slump to the ground.
Suddenly, his figure flashed, and a blue orb of light condensed in his hand.
Bang!
Beside him, another Russian trying to sneak attack Peter with a rifle butt happened to slam right into the Rasengan.
Whether it was the gun in his hand or his arms, both were shredded by the Rasengan in an instant, and a massive hole was blasted directly into his body.
"Aaaaaah—!"
Another Russian preparing to sneak attack was scared witless by the sight, but before he could finish screaming, Peter's other hand had already gripped his throat, his fingers exerting a bit of force.
Crack!
Amidst the crisp sound of bone snapping, the scream stopped abruptly.
The slaughter continued.
With his full combat power unleashed, Peter transformed into the most efficient killing machine.
Kyougoku Makoto's Karate techniques, bolstered by physical fitness far exceeding human limits, erupted with terrifying power.
Every strike was inevitably accompanied by the shattering of bones and the fading of life.
With a hand-sword strike, one man's head flew high, freed from the constraints of his neck.
With a straight punch, violent force punched completely through the opponent's entire upper body, internal organ fragments spraying from his mouth.
With a knee strike, another unlucky soul's spine was snapped raw, his body folding into a bizarre "V" shape.
This was no longer a battle.
It was a one-sided Carnage.
The thugs under Kingpin, including Scarface, were all dumbfounded.
Hiding behind cover, their faces were pale, their legs trembling uncontrollably, and a wave of wet heat came from their crotches.
They were also tough characters with many lives on their hands.
But the scene before them was completely beyond their comprehension.
That simply wasn't something a human could do!
Even in cult films, such bloody scenes were rare.
In less than a minute.
The boisterous Pier 9 returned to silence.
All the Russian mobsters, without exception, had turned into a floor covered in incomplete parts.
The entire pier had completely turned into a Shura Field.
Peter stood in the center of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, his body spotless, forming a sharp and terrifying contrast with the hellish scene around him.
He slowly turned around and looked at Scarface and the others hiding behind the cars.
Scarface shuddered, nearly kneeling before Peter on the spot.
He suppressed his heart, which was nearly jumping out of his throat, squeezed out a smile uglier than crying, and tremblingly raised his hands as he stepped out from behind cover:
"B... Boss, you're amazing!"
"Boss is mighty! You are simply a God descended to earth!"
"With you here, Boss, Mr. Kingpin will surely be able to unify New York City!"
A crowd of thugs scrambled over, showering Peter with frantic flattery.
In their minds, this inhumanly strong guy must be a secret ace trained by Mr. Kingpin, sent specifically to keep things under control.
It must be that the Russians' attitude earlier was too arrogant, so this boss stepped in to teach them a lesson.
Scarface was even more flushed with excitement, as if he could already see his prosperous future.
As long as he could cling to this powerful thigh, in the future in Hells Kitchen—no, in all of New York—he would probably be able to walk tall!
Thinking of this, he leaned forward obsequiously, pointed to the two cases full of US dollars, and said pleasingly:
"Boss, this money... should you keep it, or should we take it back to the boss?"
Peter looked at these villains whose faces were full of greed and flattery, his heart completely unmoved.
Boss?
Who is the boss of you scumbags?
His gaze fell on the crate of packages tightly wrapped in yellow tape, his eyes growing a few degrees colder.
Once these things enter the market, how many human tragedies will they create, and how many innocent families will they destroy?
With that thought, Peter's gaze fell on Scarface.
Just as he was about to make a move to clean up these men of Kingpin as well.
A sharp gust of wind suddenly attacked from his flank!
Peter's perception was so keen now that he sensed the danger almost the instant the wind whistled.
He didn't turn around, just tilted his head slightly.
Swish!
A dark red metal baton, carrying a sharp whistling sound, flew past his cheek and slammed heavily into a container in front of him with a dull thud.
Then, a vigorous figure leaped down from the top of a distant container, landing silently on the ground.
The newcomer wore a dark red skin-tight combat suit, with a mask featuring two small devil horns covering the upper half of his face, revealing only a resolute chin.
The moment he saw the newcomer, the originally calm Peter couldn't help but show a look of surprise.
This guy is... the Guardian of Hells Kitchen—Daredevil?!