The fierce exchange of gunfire at the docks came to an abrupt halt.
Whether they were Kingpin's men or the remaining Russians, everyone seemed to freeze in place. One after another, they turned their heads stiffly toward the black sedan, its windows now splattered with blood and gore.
The air, previously filled with gunpowder and the salty scent of the sea breeze, now carried an additional stench.
The sickening smell of fresh blood.
Peter casually shook the remains from his fist, his expression as calm as the surface of a bottomless lake.
His gaze slowly swept across everyone present.
Wherever his eyes passed, the gangsters felt an icy chill race up their spines. Every hair on their bodies stood on end.
"The boss is dead!"
"OPEN FIRE! KILL HIM!"
Someone finally broke the deathly silence with a hysterical scream.
The remaining Russians snapped out of their stupor. Terror overwhelmed their rationality, and they instinctively swung their weapons toward Peter, unleashing a desperate barrage of gunfire.
Ratatatatat!
Countless muzzle flashes illuminated the darkness, weaving a deadly net of bullets around him.
Yet faced with the incoming storm of gunfire, Peter felt no panic.
Instead, a trace of excitement appeared in his eyes.
'Come on, then! Let's see just how far I can push this body!'
The next instant, Peter moved.
His figure blurred into an indistinct afterimage as he darted and twisted through the barrage, changing direction at speeds and angles that seemed to defy the laws of physics.
Bullets capable of tearing through steel plates couldn't even graze the edge of his clothing!
"How... how is this possible?"
One Russian's furious expression gradually transformed into vacant disbelief.
He continued squeezing the trigger, only to hear a series of empty clicks.
Click! Click! Click!
Without realizing it, he'd already emptied his entire magazine.
By the time he understood what had happened and frantically reached for a replacement magazine at his waist, Peter had appeared directly in front of him like a ghost.
"Too slow."
The indifferent words sounded beside the man's ear, as final as a death sentence.
Schlick!
The Russian looked down in bewilderment.
A hand had pierced straight through his chest and emerged from his back.
And in that hand was a heart that was still faintly beating.
Squelch!
The next instant, Peter crushed the organ in his palm.
Blood erupted from the man's chest like a fountain.
Without changing his expression, Peter withdrew his arm and allowed the lifeless body to collapse onto the ground.
Then his figure suddenly shifted.
A sphere of brilliant blue energy materialized in his hand.
BANG!
Another Russian had attempted to sneak up behind Peter and strike him with the butt of his rifle.
Instead, the unfortunate man ran directly into the Rasengan.
The weapon in his hands and both of his arms were instantly shredded by the violently rotating chakra.
A massive hole was torn straight through his torso.
"AAAAARGH!"
Another Russian, who had also been preparing to attack, was so terrified by the sight that he froze and screamed.
But before he could finish, Peter's other hand had already closed around his throat.
His fingers tightened slightly.
Crack!
The crisp sound of breaking bone cut the scream short.
The killing continued.
With his full combat strength unleashed, Peter had transformed into an extraordinarily efficient killing machine.
Makoto Kyogoku's karate techniques, combined with Peter's physique that far surpassed human limitations, produced terrifying results.
Every movement ended with shattered bones and another life extinguished.
A single knife-hand strike sent one gangster's head flying from his shoulders.
A straight punch tore completely through another man's upper body, sending fragments of his internal organs spilling from his mouth.
One devastating knee strike snapped another unfortunate criminal's spine, folding his body into a grotesque V-shaped position.
This was no longer a fight.
It was a one-sided slaughter.
Kingpin's gangsters, including the scar-faced man leading them, could only stare in horror.
Crouching behind their cover, their faces had turned deathly pale. Their legs trembled uncontrollably, and several felt an unpleasant warmth spreading through their trousers.
These men were hardened criminals who had taken plenty of lives themselves.
But the spectacle unfolding before them was beyond anything they could comprehend.
No ordinary human being could possibly do those things!
Even the most gruesome exploitation horror films rarely depicted violence this extreme.
Less than a minute later, silence returned to Pier Nine.
Every last member of the Russian gang had been reduced to scattered, mutilated remains.
The entire dock resembled a scene from hell.
Peter stood amid the corpses and spreading pools of blood, yet not a single speck of dirt stained his clothing.
The contrast between his immaculate appearance and the carnage surrounding him was deeply unsettling.
Slowly, he turned toward Scarface and the other men hiding behind the vehicles.
Scarface shuddered violently.
For a moment, he nearly dropped to his knees.
Forcing down the terror threatening to overwhelm him, he managed a smile that looked even more miserable than crying.
With trembling hands raised, he cautiously stepped out from behind the car.
"B-Boss! That was incredible!"
"You're amazing, boss! You're like a god who descended from heaven!"
"With someone like you around, Mr. Kingpin will definitely be able to unite all of New York under his control!"
The remaining gangsters scrambled out from their hiding places and crowded around Peter, showering him with shameless praise.
In their minds, there could only be one explanation for the masked stranger's terrifying abilities.
He had to be a secret weapon personally trained by Mr. Fisk, an ultimate enforcer sent to ensure that tonight's transaction proceeded smoothly.
Those Russians must have acted far too arrogantly, provoking this mysterious powerhouse into teaching them a lesson.
Scarface's cheeks flushed with excitement.
He could practically see his glorious future unfolding before him.
If he managed to get on this terrifying man's good side, wouldn't he be able to walk around Hell's Kitchen however he pleased?
No, not just Hell's Kitchen!
He might become untouchable throughout the whole of New York!
With that thought in mind, Scarface eagerly approached Peter and pointed toward the two metal briefcases filled with American dollars.
"Boss, about this money..."
He smiled ingratiatingly.
"Would you like to take it yourself, or should we bring it back to Mr. Fisk?"
Peter looked at the gangsters surrounding him, their faces practically overflowing with greed and flattery.
He felt nothing.
'Boss?'
'Who the hell is your boss, you pieces of shit?'
His gaze shifted toward the briefcase containing packages tightly wrapped in yellow tape.
His expression grew even colder.
How much suffering would those drugs cause once they reached the streets?
How many innocent people would have their lives destroyed?
How many families would be torn apart?
With those thoughts in mind, Peter turned his attention back to Scarface.
He was just about to eliminate Kingpin's remaining men as well when—
A sharp rush of air suddenly came from behind him!
Peter's senses were now extraordinarily acute.
Almost the instant he heard the sound, he recognized the approaching danger.
Without bothering to turn around, he tilted his head slightly to one side.
Whoosh!
A dark-red metal baton flew past his cheek with a sharp whistle.
It slammed into the shipping container ahead of him, producing a heavy metallic clang.
Immediately afterward, an athletic figure leaped from the top of a distant container and landed silently on the ground.
The newcomer wore a dark-red, close-fitting armored suit.
A mask adorned with two small devil horns concealed the upper half of his face, leaving only his firm jaw exposed.
The moment Peter recognized the figure, genuine surprise appeared on his previously indifferent face.
'Wait a second...'
'Isn't that guy...'
'The guardian of Hell's Kitchen?'
'Daredevil?!'