The nightclub collapsed into pure disorder.
Francis disposed of the other bouncers first, along with anyone brave enough to push through him, before inching forward toward the other targets.
Every movement he made forced the crowd to panic more, cutting off escape paths and turning exits into pressure points. The more they tried to flee, the more they trapped each other.
Just as he predicted, it became a stampede.
The music kept playing because the DJ forgot to stop it in his rush to get out, the track still looping with an upbeat, fast-paced rhythm—bright synths and heavy bass that sounded almost cheerful, completely out of place thanks to all the corpses.
'Hmm… the music in this world isn't too bad.'
If anyone could hear his thoughts, they would have been far more afraid. What kind of person notices something like that in the middle of a massacre?
That's right. The kind that was already broken inside.
