Feng Ju mustered all his strength and chased to the entrance of the neighborhood, having to stop.

The Black Face criminal and the special agent had long disappeared from sight.

"I can't keep up with the special agent's pace, damn it. If my root bone were better, if my martial arts cultivation were higher, I might have been able to keep up, maybe even kill that criminal on the spot in the house."

Feng Ju felt he had missed a great service, and the feeling of helpless regret fiercely gripped his heart, making his breath become dejected. He really wanted to improve.

Then,

A featureless, bone-white mask rapidly enlarged in his vision.

"Another one?" Feng Ju was astonished, a chill running up his spine from his soles, his Adam's apple involuntarily moved.

Then, his eyes shot out a blazing light, his whole head heated up: "Another one!"

His regained enemy made Feng Ju's chest fill with excitement, causing his adrenaline to surge. In an instant, he forgot and ignored the dangers of the criminal.

Feng Ju shouted a warning while bending his arm sideways, thrusting a short knife straight at the bone-white mask.

"This guy looks familiar, turns out he's the cheap father of Feng Mu."

"But I'm not Feng Mu now, I'm Destiny's criminal member, Mask~"

Feng Mu coldly turned his head aside, no wave of emotion in his eyes. To him, Feng Ju was neither loved nor hated, and he would neither deliberately lighten nor hold back his strikes.

Like the faceless mask, he treated everyone with the same cold indifference.

He raised his hand to claw, pinching the blade between two fingers, twisting it into a pretzel effortlessly.

Feng Ju's vision blurred for a moment, and he was lifted into the air, the mask disappearing from sight as he fell heavily to the ground, dazed and disoriented.

Feng Mu stepped on Feng Ju's chest, suddenly exerting force, making the latter's vision turn black, spewing blood from his mouth.

Feng Mu was unconcerned about Feng Ju's life or death, barreling past his obstruction and charging like a thunderstorm at the nearest chief constables.

Just as he expected, having just seen off the criminal Black Face, the constables didn't anticipate another criminal, Mask, emerging.

One by one, just starting to relax, they were caught unprepared, their gun-drawing speed clearly unable to keep up with the brutal enemy within their midst.

One chief constable had just placed his hand on his gun when Feng Mu took the lead, the clawed fingers tearing through the air, slicing the gun barrel like foam, along with several smooth finger stumps.

Another constable had just drawn his gun, not yet aiming, when Feng Mu closed in, a Dragonfly Sweep gouging out both eyes.

Another constable, unable to draw his gun, roared as he tightly embraced Feng Mu, trying to restrain him, only to have his spine yanked out from behind, turning limp and collapsing to the ground.

Feng Mu wasn't as fast as Black Face, so he couldn't let these constables distance themselves and shoot him like a kite. He had no agile stepping technique to dodge bullets.

Thus, he had to take the fastest route to incapacitate the number of constables, not seeking to kill but to prevent the ability to draw a gun with one strike.

If they died, it was their fate; if not, he would not waste time finishing them off.

Feng Mu was seizing the initiative, grabbing time, as the constables realized, hastily pulling back from him.

They noticed too, unlike the almost intangible Black Face, the present Mask's body technique wasn't so fast, only terrifying in strength, with a vicious claw skill, close enough to pierce flesh and bone like tofu.

"One, two, three... six, seven!"

Feng Mu silently counted in his heart. By the time he incapacitated the seventh constable, gunshots finally rang out.

A sharp pain shot through Feng Mu's lower back as a bullet penetrated, seemingly snapping an intestine, blood bubbling from the wound.

Feng Mu's eyes instantly reddened, his foot stomping down, his whole being pouncing like a famished tiger.

The shooting constable, absolutely terrified, fired two more shots, the next second, the gun chamber exploded, Feng Mu having jammed the gun barrel with his fingertip.

The chamber burst, splashing bullet fragments from the rear over the man's face.

His anguished howls chilled the hearts of the other constables preparing to shoot.

Each was an experienced chief at the patrol office, used to facing formidable martial artists like Black Face and the previous scar-faced woman, both terrifying, slaughtering people like reaping wheat.

But, still flesh and blood, they dodged bullets rather than charging face-first to confront them.

Using a finger to block a gun barrel—was this still a person? Most terrifying, it was the gun that exploded, not his finger?

Feng Mu withdrew his finger, its skin blasted away to reveal a hooked bone finger.

The clawed finger sliced forward, a white streak in the night, screams abruptly halted, a neck artery spraying blood, dotting the white mask red, appearing increasingly eerie and sinister.

This was Feng Mu's first finishing move tonight.

Feng Mu lowered his head, clawing three bullets out of his stomach, blood holes gushing.

The [Frenzy Blood] icon on his retina glowed more than ever before.

Thirst for blood and murder filled his mind, violent emotions aggravating his nerves.

Feng Mu stomped, deeply leaving a footprint, speed abruptly increasing.

Facing the blood-drenched mask charging, the constable's heart pounded, his finger welded to the trigger, bullets firing continuously.

In Feng Mu's bloodshot vision, he could vaguely perceive the bullet trails, abruptly sidestepping with the crudest technique, relying on sheer terrifying strength and surging speed, he dodged nine bullets.

Only one struck his chest, slipping through rib gaps to pierce the right lung.

Breathing instantly became painful, his lungs seemed aflame, followed by even greater strength and speed.

A soft finger swipe, a terrified head spun into the air, neck severed, blood spurting up after a moment's pause.

Though it seemed a lengthy narrative, in reality, rabbit-like speed elapsed, less than half a minute had passed with ten or so constables dead or incapacitated.

Feng Mu also took four shots, [Frenzy Blood] heating unbearably, with the [Feast] craving insatiably.

Wang Yilin felt some dread, having left only 30 constables in ambush. After Black Face and Mask's brutal attacks, fewer than half remained.

Yet, did Mask seem to grow stronger with each shot?

Both strength and speed appeared doubled, surely fatigue caused me to hallucinate~

Wang Yilin fiercely rubbed his eyes and shouted, "Shoot, shoot—all together! He's shot, it's his death throes. Finish him, I'll commend everyone to the special agent."

Bang, bang, bang, bang—

Gunfire erupted.

Feng Mu stood still, taking a deep breath, smelling the bloody scent lingering over 1000 people in the air.

The [Feast] icon pulsated wildly with his heartbeat, as if coming to life.

Like a mouse in a granary, previously able to suppress inner urges but now wounded and bleeding, hunger magnified tapping into insurmountable desire~

Feng Mu jumped forward, the air sounding with bursting explosions, directly leaping at Wang Yilin.

Bullets densely struck his back, tearing clothes to expose a bumpy bone armor of dense white, unlike a human body.

The thermos in his shoulder bag shot to pieces, soaking the bag and clothes with blood.

"This is your doing~" The grinding voice beneath the mask was chilling.

This was Wang Yilin's last heard sentence in this world, ahead of him a mask completely blood-dyed red…

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