Yang Chen listened quietly, nodding slightly. The memory of that night gradually unfolded in his mind…
It was past midnight. A crescent moon hung in the sky—sharp as a wolf's fang, stained crimson.
In a quiet West District street, a ragged figure burst from an alley. She wore a leather outfit that hugged her curves, her arm sliced open, oozing bright red blood.
A cold dagger was clamped tightly in her hand, glinting menacingly in the moonlight. Traces of blood proved it had just sliced through flesh.
"Miss, no need to run…" A deep voice boomed from a warehouse ahead.
The woman skidded to a halt, staring warily at over a dozen figures emerging from the shadows.
The leader had a bandaged head, a rugged face, and a black coat. He twirled a domestic Type 37 pistol, blocking the road casually.
"Impressive, Miss. You took out thirty of my men single-handedly—never missed a shot. Made it this far…" His voice was cold and ruthless. "But we planned this ambush. We knew you'd run out of ammo. Now we're here."
"Black Bear, I treated you well. Why side with my father against me?" the woman panted. After killing dozens of enemies, her men were gone, and she was at her limit.
Black Bear chuckled coldly. "Miss, whatever the rift between you and the Boss—my life is his. I serve him. You were good to me, but once you left the West Alliance to form Red Thorn, you became his enemy. And mine. No favors here."
"My father is a tyrant. His deals are unforgivable—even other gangs despise him. He treats you like dogs. So many elders and brothers left with me. Why are you so stubborn?" the woman pleaded. She knew she couldn't withstand a hail of bullets—this was her last chance.
Black Bear shook his head, unmoved. "Miss, one last thing before you go: Gangsters may lack humanity, but we live by 'loyalty'…"
With that, he raised a hand. The dozen black-clad men raised their submachine guns, aiming at the woman ten meters away.
Death hung in the air. Just as the guns were about to fire, a ghostly, magnetic voice cut through the silence…
"Hey, dudes. You ruined my moon-watching, but are you really gonna shoot a woman with a dozen guns? Men only use their 'guns' below the belt on women—any other weapon's off-limits. Look how pretty she is…" His tone was full of regret.
"Who's there?!" Black Bear scanned the area, but saw no one.
The woman, waiting to die, suddenly widened her beautiful eyes—staring at the sky in disbelief!
A figure descended like a phantom, appearing before the gunmen. He looked like a European vampire—spreading black bat wings in the moonlight, baring sharp fangs.
It was a young man with a lazy, carefree face. A playful, curious glint flickered in his eyes—but mostly, disdain.
Black Bear hated that look, but fear coiled in his gut. "Who the hell are you?!"
The young man didn't answer. He turned casually to the woman, smiling. "If I take care of them, will you grant me one request?"
"Yes… anything…" Her pale face flushed. She imagined a man saving a woman—what he'd want, including her body. But she had no choice. Strangely, she trusted this unarmed stranger to save her from a dozen guns.
"Whoever you are, you die…" Black Bear roared, raising his pistol at the man.
Bang!
The gun fired—but the man vanished. When he reappeared, his palm covered Black Bear's skull. A gentle twist…
Crack… crack!
Black Bear collapsed limply, eyes wide with shock and rage—his neck snapped before he could react.
The black-clad gunmen froze. Black Bear, one of the gang's top fighters, a former underground boxer—dead in an instant!
"Stupid Bear said something about loyalty… Right. Let me give you a lesson: Bullets only work on the weak…"
The man moved again, a blur of motion weaving through the gunmen. Each time he approached, he struck—palm to skull, hand around throat, fist to chest. Every hit dropped a man.
Watching from afar, the woman could barely process what she saw. Only after the gunmen fell did she realize: Their skulls were crushed, necks snapped, internal organs shattered—brutal, inhuman kills.
At first, she'd seen him as a hero. Now? He was Death itself.
Saved by a Grim Reaper—and she'd promised to fulfill his request.
Truth be told, she'd have obeyed even without promising. One could say "no" to a man—but not to a god.
The battle ended in a breath. The young man clapped his hands and walked over, grinning in the moonlight—unfazed by the slaughter. "I'm Yang Chen. What's your name, beautiful?"
"Qiangwei…" she murmured, dazed.
"Qiangwei… lovely name." Yang Chen scratched his head, sheepish. "Uh… Miss Qiangwei, my request…"
"Please… say it…" She bowed her head, ready to surrender. Her heart raced.
Yang Chen spoke seriously. "Miss Qiangwei, I hope… you never tell anyone about tonight. I don't want trouble with your gang. Please…"
Please? He's begging me?