16: Chapter 16 Gene Extraction, Perfect Hit

Inside the church, the smell of blood was so thick it was impossible to dissipate.

The layer of pitch-black, streamlined exoskeleton on Lynn's body receded like a tide, retracting back into the crimson blood watch on his left wrist.

He returned to his human form.

On the ground, Bullseye, having lost his legs, was still rolling and wailing frantically in a pool of blood.

Extreme blood loss made his face as pale as paper, yet his powerful survival instinct still drove him to struggle.

"Save me... stop the bleeding for me..."

Bullseye looked at Lynn, who had walked up to him; tears and snot, mixed with rain, flowed down his face.

The coldness and madness he took such pride in were completely crushed in the face of the reality that his legs had been severed in an instant.

"Wilson Fisk has a lot of money... He can give you a mountain of gold! As long as you spare me! I can still kill for you! I never miss!"

Bullseye incoherently threw out all his bargaining chips.

"You truly never miss."

Lynn raised his right foot and mercilessly stepped onto Bullseye's chest, pinning him firmly to the ground.

"Therefore, your genes are very valuable."

"What... genes..." Bullseye's pupils contracted sharply.

Lynn didn't listen to any more of his nonsense.

He clenched his left fist, and the inverted triangle logo on the Bloodtrix instantly lit up with a violent red glow.

Several dark red bio-metallic threads shot out from the bottom of the watch face, like living vipers, instantly piercing into Bullseye's carotid artery!

"Urgh—!"

Bullseye's eyes bulged, and his body convulsed violently as if electrocuted.

[Target locked.]

[High-frequency mutant genes detected: Absolute Precision, Super Micro Dynamic Vision.]

[Devour Rule, activated.]

Accompanying the cold system prompt, the blood inside Bullseye's body was frantically sucked away by a terrifying force.

His body, already withered from blood loss, shriveled at a speed visible to the naked eye.

In just ten seconds.

Bullseye, the top assassin who shook the underworld and gave countless superheroes headaches, had turned into a skin-and-bones corpse.

"Thud."

Lynn withdrew his left foot and pulled out the bio-metallic threads.

The red light from the Bloodtrix spread along his arm to his entire body, finally converging on his eyes.

Lynn closed his eyes, feeling the reorganization of his optic nerves and muscle fibers.

When he opened his eyes again, a glimmer of extreme sharpness flashed deep within his black pupils.

The dust dancing around and the raindrops dripping through the cracks in the roof became incredibly clear in his vision; even their trajectories could be instantly calculated by his brain to determine their landing points.

[Gene analysis complete.]

[Permanently solidified into the host's basic physique: Dynamic Vision and Absolute Precision.]

Lynn walked over to a gangster's corpse nearby and used his toe to kick up a standard-issue dagger from the ground.

Without even looking, he threw it backward with a backhand motion.

"Pfft!"

The dagger traced a perfect arc through the air, accurately piercing the head of a rat that was hiding on a beam thirty meters away, gnawing on scraps of meat, and pinning it firmly to the wooden beam.

No aiming motion at all, just pure muscle memory and instinct.

"A perfect passive skill." Lynn shook his wrist with satisfaction.

Footsteps came from behind.

Frank was holding that dark red ion laser gun and walked out from behind a stone pillar.

He glanced at the bodies all over the floor, which had been sliced smoothly, and then looked at the shriveled corpse of Bullseye.

Even this battle-hardened, iron-blooded veteran couldn't help but let a trace of shock flash in his eyes.

Over a hundred heavily armed elites, all sliced to pieces in less than three seconds.

This killing efficiency had already transcended the scope of war; it was a one-sided divine punishment.

"You don't need a gun; you're right." Frank holstered the laser gun back into the holster on his thigh, his voice still low.

"These people are indeed just meat targets in front of you."

"Cut off his head."

Lynn pointed to Bullseye's shriveled corpse on the ground.

Frank didn't hesitate at all. He drew his tactical knife, walked to the shriveled corpse, and struck with his knife.

The dehydrated cervical vertebrae were brittle. With a "crack," Bullseye's head, bearing its iconic tattoo, rolled to the side.

Lynn pulled over a black canvas bag, originally used for carrying explosives, from the nearby ruins, kicked the head into it, and zipped it up.

"Take this to Fisk Tower. Deliver it personally to Kingpin's security."

Lynn threw the bag to Frank.

"Tell that fat pig that I'm not satisfied with the bounty. Let him prepare his own head; I will come to collect it personally."

Frank caught the heavy bag, a cold arc curling at the corner of his mouth.

"My pleasure."

This was not just a warning; it was a declaration of war.

As the executioner of the Crimson Court, Frank was more than happy to be the one to toll the death knell.

Early morning, six o'clock. The heavy rain had just stopped.

In the center of Manhattan, on the top floor of Fisk Tower.

Kingpin stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at New York City, which had just been illuminated by the morning light.

He held a glass of red wine in his hand, but his eyes were chillingly gloomy.

For an entire night, the hundreds of elites he sent to surround and annihilate that dilapidated church, as well as his most capable assassin, Bullseye, had all lost contact.

That was the sharpest blade in his hand; it was impossible for it to disappear without a sound.

"Boss."

The office door was pushed open.

Kingpin's chief personal assistant, James, looked pale, holding a black canvas bag that was dripping with dark red liquid.

"What is this?" Kingpin turned around, his brows locked in a frown.

"A man wearing a skull trench coat... threw this at the front desk on the first floor of the tower." James's voice was trembling.

"He said... this is a return gift for you."

Kingpin strode forward and ripped open the zipper of the canvas bag.

"Thump."

A shriveled, skin-and-bones head rolled out of the bag onto the marble floor.

Although the cheeks were sunken and it had become a mummified corpse, the iconic target tattoo on the forehead was still clearly visible.

Kingpin's pupils contracted sharply, his heart feeling as if it were being squeezed hard by an invisible giant hand.

Bullseye.

The strongest trump card in his hand had actually had its head twisted off and was thrown like trash on the first floor of the empire building he was so proud of.

"He... he also left a message." The assistant swallowed, trembling as he spoke.

"He said, tell you to prepare your own head; he will come to collect it personally."

"Bang!"

The wine glass in Kingpin's hand was crushed by him; the red wine, mixed with glass shards, pierced into his palm, and blood dripped down.

Extreme rage and a trace of fear hidden deep in his heart made the face of this underworld emperor look incredibly ferocious.

Conventional gunmen, and even top mutants and assassins, were completely vulnerable in front of this monster who called itself the "Crimson Court"!

He had to use deeper forces. The kind of power that did not belong to this ordinary World.

"Get out." Kingpin roared lowly.

The assistant, as if granted amnesty, scrambled out of the office.

Kingpin walked behind his desk and pressed a red button hidden under the desk.

A secret door slid open behind the bookshelf, revealing an old-fashioned encrypted satellite phone.

He picked up the receiver and dialed a number with only five digits.

The phone rang three times before it was answered, and an old, hoarse voice of an Asian woman came from the other end.

"Wilson, disturbing my meditation at this time, I hope you have a sufficient reason."

"I need your people. Madame Gao."

Kingpin gritted his teeth, his voice filled with the madness of burning his bridges.

"An uncontrollable monster has appeared in Hells Kitchen. I want your 'Undead Ninjas' to cut out his heart. Name your price; is half of the Fisk Empire's overseas shipping routes enough?"

The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds.

"Half of the shipping routes?" Madame Gao's voice revealed a hint of a cold smile.

"It seems you have provoked incredible trouble. As you wish, the blades of The Hand will descend tonight."