Maguire looked at the thugs in front of him—already written into his personal "death ledger."
He didn't bother speaking. Trash didn't deserve dialogue.
Without another word, he walked toward them.
Seeing his face, the men laughed mockingly.
"Look at you—still a rookie, huh? Hahaha."
"Kneel down, give us a few loud kowtows, and maybe…"
"…maybe we'll let you have a little fun."
The blonde woman glanced at Maguire.
In that black suit, there was something magnetic about him—dangerous, but strangely alluring. Against her better judgment, a spark of curiosity—and even expectation—lit in her chest.
…
Maguire smirked, flipping his hand to produce that familiar cigar.
Same move, same flavor.
One thug stepped forward, furious at Maguire's blatant disregard.
"You deaf, punk? I'm talking to you!"
"And you've got the nerve to light up in front of me?"
He reached out to snatch the cigar from Maguire's lips.
Oh no. He'd gone for *Bully Maguire's* cigar.
A blur flashed—
The man's body went flying, slamming into a brick wall and landing next to the blonde.
His head… was nothing more than pulp.
With strength that could stop a train dead, a normal human's skull had no chance.
The blonde stared, eyes wide, the coppery stench and vivid red turning her scream into something raw and animal.
In the 13th District, though, her voice was just another part of the night's music.
…
The remaining thugs stared at their fallen comrade, faces tightening.
Hands went to their waists in unison.
Black pistol barrels swung up to meet Maguire—though the hands holding them trembled.
They'd seen his speed. His strength. No human should be capable of it.
One thug managed to speak.
"Who the hell are you? I'll have you know—we work for the Kingpin."
"If you touch us, you're a dead man!"
Maguire took a slow drag on his cigar, smirking.
Seeing his calm, the thugs followed the "strike first" instinct—
And pulled their triggers.
BANG… BANG BANG…
Muzzle flashes lit the alley.
Bullets spun toward Maguire—
Only for him to flick his hand, a pale white sphere appearing in his palm.
The air itself rippled, like water disturbed by a stone.
The bullets shuddered midair, then clattered harmlessly to the ground.
The thugs' eyes went wide.
They turned to run.
Maguire's lips curved upward.
He clenched a fist—
CRACK.
The sound of something breaking filled the air.
The fleeing men froze mid-stride… then spat blood—and something solid—before collapsing like sacks of meat.
…
The blonde's body trembled.
This man standing before her wasn't human.
He was a demon from the pit.
…
Maguire took another drag, strolling toward her.
"Please," she stammered, "don't kill me. I'll do whatever you want. I don't need money, I'll—"
CRACK.
Her words died with her head.
The headless body slumped to the floor, blood painting the wall behind her with jagged crimson cracks.
"Kingpin," Maguire muttered, "he's nothing."
The system chimed in his head:
> \[Congratulations, host. Bully action completed.
> Bully Points +10.
> Current total: 75.]
Maguire frowned.
*Pathetic payout. Trash lives aren't worth much.*
Then, his brow furrowed.
…
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