The out-of-control police car tumbled and twisted like a drunkard, finally transforming into a burning wreck in a deafening explosion, with fragments and charred debris scattering everywhere.
Hashimoto Yoma stood before the flames of the explosion, his figure elongated, the golden Hermes phantom synchronizing with him, his scepter lightly tapping, as if admiring this destructive art forged by power.
"Hermes, god of lies, speed, and muscle…"
He did not linger, his gaze directed towards the deeper core area of Morioh, where Kishibe Rohan's will was most concentrated—the broadcast tower, the headquarters of the Disciplinary Learning Center, and the gathering place of his most fanatical followers.
He was furious now!
"Warm-up… it's time to upgrade to a formal workout."
He murmured, the inhuman curve of his mouth becoming more pronounced, his twisted, youthful, muscular body twitching and trembling. He could feel that a real workout, one that would satisfy him completely, was about to begin.
He started again, transforming into a golden lightning bolt, but this time, his "running" defied physical common sense.
He wasn't merely moving on the ground; he was sometimes sprinting on vertical walls, sometimes suddenly tearing up the ground, then stepping on the fragments he had kicked up to walk through the air.
Each push sent those fragments hurtling outwards at an even more ferocious speed, triggering more explosions and flames, completely disrupting the Town that had become calm and orderly.
The streets he passed through not only had their manga decorations torn apart, but even the ground began to crack, walls collapsed, and civilians suffered heavy casualties, as if an invisible giant beast was trampling the Town, fanatically destroying everything.
"Stop him! At all costs!"
The surviving police command system let out a desperate roar. They didn't care if civilians died, but they absolutely could not allow the prestige of Lord Kishibe Rohan to be damaged!
More roadblocks were set up, and machine guns and rocket launchers were brought in, intending to deliver a fatal blow to Hashimoto Yoma.
But in the face of absolute speed and power, all of it was futile.
Machine gun bullets rained down, but Hashimoto Yoma neither dodged nor avoided them, instead performing a strange dance, easily evading every single bullet, feeling the heat brushing his cheek and the gunshots that only reached him after the bullets had passed.
Bang!
A police officer he approached was thrown up, pulverized into a mist of water by his punch, refracting a mournful light in the sunlight and flames.
He himself pierced through the mist, instantly appearing before the police officer operating the machine gun, blasting him and his weapon into fragments with one strike. Then, with a high kick, he shattered the ground, sent the heavy machine gun mounted on it flying, and then picked up this steel monster and directly fired it into the crowd.
For a time, he managed to suppress the arriving self-defense forces and a large number of police with his firepower, even shooting down police helicopters in the sky.
Only after he had emptied his bullets and charged out again did the police officers and self-defense forces dare to attack once more.
A net of bullets was woven and came crashing down, but the muscular wings behind Hashimoto Yoma vibrated violently, his speed soaring again as he weaved through the barrage, leaving a Z-shaped golden trail.
He even caught several bullets aimed at his vital points with his bare hands, throwing them back. The bullets screamed as they precisely pierced the gunmen behind cover.
He began to enjoy this pure, overwhelming destruction. Each punch, each kick, was accompanied by the birth of new power. He could feel every muscle in his body being squeezed in this extreme combat.
His power was constantly growing!
This was not revenge, but a sacrifice—the "order" of the entire Morioh as a sacrifice, offered to his muscles, offered to the divine power of Hermes that was with him!
"Muscles! I can feel it, it's the power of muscles! No one can stop my workout!"
He stormed into the Disciplinary Learning Center.
The ongoing brainwashing session abruptly ceased. The fanatical lecturer and the numb students watched in horror as this golden figure, like a demon, burst in, but the perfect muscles on him caused several female students to involuntarily become dazed.
"What boring things… are you all looking at?"
Hashimoto Yoma's voice echoed in the empty hall. He casually grabbed a thick collection of "pink dark boy" and, with bulging muscles, exerted force.
Rip—!
The heavy manga book was like fragile waste paper in his hands, easily torn in half, then into quarters, then eighths… finally turning into a flurry of flying paper scraps.
"True power is here!" he roared, smashing a fist onto the podium. The steel-reinforced concrete podium was like a target hit by a cannonball, instantly shattering into pieces, sending shrapnel flying.
The students screamed and fled in terror, while the lecturer trembled, pointing at him, his eyes filled with fanaticism for Kishibe Rohan. "You… you demon! Blasphemer!"
"Demon?"
Hashimoto Yoma instantly appeared before him, his cold golden pupils gazing at him. "No, I haven't come to free you. I've only come to work out."
He didn't kill the lecturer, but grabbed him by the collar with one hand, lifting him like a ragdoll, then, with speed imperceptible to the naked eye, he began to "write" on him with his fingers. Not words, but deep, bone-revealing gashes carved with finger strength, outlining muscle patterns, then he squeezed and forcibly twisted his flesh and bones.
He carved out the bones on the thin lecturer's body, but he looked much stronger than before.
"Feel it! This is the real sensation! The texture of flesh and blood!"
He threw the screaming lecturer into the crowd, causing even greater chaos. "Kishibe Rohan is the real demon!"
The destruction spread.
He tore down the signal transmitter of the broadcast tower with his bare hands, abruptly silencing the piercing hymns and wanted posters. He crashed through important administrative buildings, sending documents and manga manuscripts flying and burning in the strong wind.
The entire Morioh, this "new order model zone" meticulously crafted by Kishibe Rohan, was now being violently dismantled from within by a primal, barbaric force. Everything seemingly civilized was no match for pure power.
Wherever Hashimoto Yoma went, he left behind not only ruins and corpses, but also a complete negation of the foundation of Kishibe Rohan's rule. It wasn't just physical destruction; under the blessing of Hermes' power of lies, people began to believe Kishibe Rohan was a demon.
Although this new prime minister, since taking office, had indeed acted like a demon.
Finally, Hashimoto Yoma stopped in a relatively open plaza. Here, the largest statue of Kishibe Rohan once stood, but it had been casually shattered by him when he passed by earlier, leaving only the base.
He stood on the base, grabbing fragments of Kishibe Rohan's statue and using them as dumbbells for weightlifting.
He surveyed the land he had personally ravaged: burning streets, collapsed buildings, terrified fleeing people… He took a deep breath, inhaling the strange air mixed with gunpowder, blood, and burning ink.
The power within him was boiling, the phantom of Hermes was clearer than ever before, those muscle-formed wings seemed to materialize.
But this was still not enough. Although the workout was very comfortable, he had not yet exacted his revenge, and the hatred for Kishibe Rohan, who had destroyed everything he held dear, had not yet dissipated.
"Kishibe Rohan—!"
He let out a sky-shattering roar, his voice like rolling thunder, spreading throughout the turbulent Town. "I've torn apart all your toys! How long are you going to hide?! Come out! Face me! Use your ridiculous manga to see if it can withstand this… true power of mine!"