Chapter 3: The Down-and-Out Young Gangster Wouldn't Dream of the Legal Department's Hunting Beauty
The scarred, burly man's fist hurtled straight at Horatio's face, the force of which showed no intention of leaving him any chance of survival.
"Die, you bastard!!!"
'Activating Power Fist...100%'
'Power Fist Activation Complete'
Bang!
A muffled thud echoed from the carriage.
"Ugh! Ouch! Ouch!" The burly man was shocked, constantly emitting unpleasant screams.
His fist, as big as a sandbag, slammed squarely into Horatio's iron palm.
Horatio, slightly shorter than the burly man, had a gloomy face and sneered.
Crack!
The next second, the burly man's fist instantly turned into mincemeat in Horatio's hand, blood and flesh squeezing out from between his metal fingers as if they had been put into a meat grinder.
"Ah!!!!" The burly man immediately burst into tears, tears and blood flowing like a faucet being turned on.
Bang!
Horatio's brows furrowed as he raised his fist and struck the scarred, burly man's face, a face contorted with astonishment and pain.
The riot helmet, along with the man's head, shattered into countless fragments in an instant, spraying backward like exploding Claymore mines, knocking several cultists off balance and drenching them in blood.
The scarred man's headless corpse was thrown to the ground by the force of the impact.
Horatio, his face grim, flicked his iron hand away with a look of utter disdain, brushing off the sticky flesh and blood.
Everyone was stunned; they couldn't believe a mortal could accomplish such a feat.
Even the Huntress, kneeling on the ground, stared in utter terror at Horatio, now dressed in blood-stained prison clothes.
Normally, only the Emperor's Deathbringers, fully armed Space Marines, could possess such immense strength.
How could he possibly... rely solely on that old, neither high-end nor cutting-edge prosthetic limb...?
Taking advantage of the crowd's astonishment, Horatio stepped over the blood-soaked ground and charged forward like an arrow released from a bow, ready to finish the job quickly.
"Eek!!!"
The approaching heavy footsteps jolted the cultists awake, goosebumps instantly rising all over their bodies.
"Monster...monster..."
These guys trembled and retreated.
Although their orders were to live, the instinct for survival made them disregard obedience.
Suddenly, a tingling sensation spread throughout Horatio's body, like an electric current running through him.
Bang! Bang!
A trembling finger pulled the trigger twice in a muscle spasm.
[!] Horatio felt a burning pain in his shoulder.
The first bullet grazed his shoulder, leaving a small bloodstain; a few millimeters lower, it would have ripped his shoulder blade off.
Horatio took a few deep breaths, a chill running down his spine.
But he quickly recalled his instructor's advice from years ago—never lose your composure when facing vicious criminals, and never show fear.
So he suppressed his turmoil, his face remaining impassive and cold, as if it were nothing.
His prosthetic arm had just felt a bump, and Horatio's gaze fell on his iron hand, where a steaming, deformed bullet was held between two fingers.
It was the second bullet.
[Is this the instinct for self-preservation brought by the Tarot of Omens…?]
*Snap*.
The bullet was crushed into a gleaming silver flower like a corn kernel.
The cultists were stunned, their eyes filled with despair.
Having learned his lesson, Horatio suddenly realized—he wasn't a Space Marine; as a mortal, he could die from a gunshot wound. He had to remain cautious until he was completely safe.
He immediately ripped off the steel-plated cushion from his seat and used it to shield himself, then lunged forward to continue his assault.
To prevent ricochets from injuring the Huntress on the ground, he positioned the cushioned side towards the enemy, ensuring the bullets embedded themselves and didn't bounce around.
Whoosh—the air screamed as if torn apart, and the rapid, brief gunfire abruptly ceased.
Horatio delivered a swift chop to the nearest man, the steel automatic rifle instantly smashing him and his helmet into a V-shape.
"Ah! Ouch!!"
These were elite, burly men from the Slaanesh cult, specially dispatched after long and rigorous training to carry out this "rescue" operation against the Ministry of Justice's bailiffs.
Yet, this group of grown men were now screaming incoherently, as if they had encountered a ghost.
At the rear of the carriage, the dim light cast shadows on the walls.
Hands rose, hands fell.
Each fall splattered a round pool of blood on the wall, and each rise sent forth a long trail of blood.
The air gradually filled with the stench of blood. Terrified screams, agonizing cries, and desperate groans mingled together, echoing in the small carriage.
But the slaughter didn't stop there…
*Click!
* The rear armored hatch was ripped open, and a cultist jumped out in a panic, landing half-dead on the ground. Before he could even get up, he was crushed into a bloody pulp by the truck following behind.
The last man froze at the sight, his legs trembling uncontrollably.
"What are you standing there for? Get down!"
came the young man's voice from behind.
"Eek!" The cultist screamed desperately, his hair standing on end. A warm stream, accompanied by a foul stench emanating from his crotch, gushed out uncontrollably. *
Clang!*
Horatio swung the steel-plated seat cushion, delivering a powerful blow.
The cultist's back snapped instantly into an inverted V-shape, his entire body flying through the air and crashing heavily into the front of the truck following behind, turning into a disgusting pool of visceral, bloody pulp.
"I'm so sorry, brother."
Horatio clasped his hands together apologetically as he closed the truck door.
Sweating profusely, Horatio leaned against the door, panting. The thick stench of blood mixed with the foul smell of excrement filled the truck, making him feel nauseous.
Horatio frowned and spat in the face of one of the dead men.
He casually pulled a handkerchief from the chest of a wrecked body, wiped the blood-stained iron hand clean, and straightened his numb, aching back. His gaze fell on the handcuffed Huntress.
In the brief moment their eyes met, like a wolf and a doe caught in a trap, the disheveled Huntress averted her gaze first.
Her hands were cuffed behind her back, her voluptuous body lying on the ground in an S-shape, a picture of utter battle-damaged wretchedness.
Fortunately, a heat-resistant, form-fitting combat suit bearing the Eagle emblem protected her last vestige of dignity, preventing any accidental exposure.
Horatio casually tossed aside his soiled handkerchief and walked towards the Huntress.
"Don't come any closer! Death row inmate, I will definitely kill you." Seeing Horatio, covered in blood, approaching, the Huntress trembled.
Her cheek was swollen and red from the earlier slap, and she trembled all over, gasping for breath. Her threatening words sounded so weak, even somewhat ridiculous.
Her clear, melodious voice was slightly hoarse, her tone a mixture of fear and hatred. Her fierce expression, with its swollen cheek, seemed both aggrieved and desperately trying to maintain her dignity.
One was a vigilante from the Ministry of Justice, the other a death row inmate she was escorting.
Horatio understood her distrust and worry. She hadn't done anything wrong; the conflict was simply a matter of upholding the law.
He knelt beside her, carefully avoiding her sensitive areas, and gentlemanly turned her over.
"What do you want...!"
The moment Horatio touched the girl, the Huntress struggled violently, kicking her long legs, but she couldn't touch him at all.
"Don't move, save your energy. How do you unlock this thing?" He searched the Huntress's body for a long time but couldn't find the handcuff key.
"These are biometric handcuffs, find the touchpad on top, and then... ugh!"
Horatio searched for the way to unlock the handcuffs and accidentally touched a red button. The Huntress's body instantly convulsed, her bright almond eyes rolling back.
After a while, her tense body relaxed, and she breathed in the stale air in the carriage.
[Hmm... it seems this is an electrical switch to prevent prisoners from escaping.]
"...You bastard, you must have done it on purpose!" The numbing effect of the electric current made saliva drip from the corner of her mouth.
Her hair was disheveled, and she glared fiercely at Horatio, but she was completely helpless against him.
"How do I unlock it? I'm in a hurry."
"Put my fingers on it…"
Horatio did as she said, bending the girl's slender, jade-like fingers to a near-maximum angle before barely managing to touch them.
"Ugh! Ugh!! Gently, gently!" The huntress's lips twitched, biting her lip tightly.
"Alright, unlocked." The handcuffs unlocked automatically the moment the huntress's fingers touched them.
She trembled all over, looking terrified, instinctively trying to protect herself.
The instant the handcuffs slipped from the girl's wrists, the next second, the pistol was almost instinctively drawn from its holster at her waist.
[Instinctive stress response!]
"Calm down!"
He reacted quickly, grabbing her hand, failing to take it away, but pointing the gun at the ceiling, his index finger against the trigger to prevent it from being pulled, his long ring finger smoothly pushing the safety.
The huntress's lips were tightly pressed together, her terrified eyes fixed on Horatio's blue eyes, like a wounded fawn.
Her slender hands trembled uncontrollably.
"I won't hurt you. You're safe for now. Don't be afraid. Put down your gun," Horatio said earnestly and solemnly.
As an experienced law enforcement officer, he knew how to calm a hostage after rescuing them to prevent further incidents.
The Huntress lowered her head, kneeling on the ground, her long, flowing blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She didn't speak, her index finger tightly gripping the trigger. Finally, softened by Horatio's reassurance, she gradually released the gun.
At close range, Horatio could faintly hear her suppressed sobs.
Recalling the near-death experience, her emotions were difficult to control, leading to her impulsive behavior.
Horatio, a former coast guard officer and practically a colleague, understood. He gently patted her back, afraid she would choke from crying, giving her a brief moment to calm down.
After a while…
The Huntress struggled to suppress her sobs, her brows furrowed, her lips barely moving, her hoarse voice trembling as she asked, "How did you know? The cult's plot, and police sign language."
"Uh..."
Horatio was stumped by the Huntress's first question.
[He couldn't very well say he was from 3K Ancient Terra, practically a colleague, and could see fragments of the future, could he?]
Given the Empire's conservative nature, exposing these strange, flashy unknown things would only lead to death or a gruesome end.
Horatio's eyes darted to the right, his mind racing for an answer.
"I took down a few sneaky guys in jail, and they told me the plan. As for sign language, after outsmarting the cops for so long, of course I can understand it."
Horatio lied without batting an eye, figuring it out; she was so distracted, she probably wouldn't notice anything amiss.
Suddenly, the sudden braking made the already chaotic interior of the car even more disorganized.
Horatio reached out to steady himself on the seat cushion, lifting the Huntress from the blood-stained floor of the carriage to a seat.
"Get up, get your gear on, we're probably at those guys' lair."
A moment later, the riot door separating the cockpit from the carriage opened.
"We're here! You've all had your fun, now it's our turn..."
The cultist who emerged yawned, but his words trailed off as he saw the carnage scattered throughout the carriage.
Horatio and the Huntress stared at him, their gazes sharper, colder, and more ferocious than the other's.
The Huntress tried to rush forward, but Horatio pressed her back down.
"Just get your gear on, I'll handle the rest." His previously amiable face instantly turned cold.
The Huntress gazed at the young man, and for some reason, felt a long-lost sense of peace.
The cultist involuntarily backed away, staggering as he fled.
"Close the door quickly! Notify the high priest, the two sacrifices have escaped control! Hurry!"
With that, he slammed his hand on the emergency shut-off switch, and the heavy riot door slammed shut.
"Phew." The man took a deep breath, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
*Click!*—
Before he could even pick up his communicator, a sharp, piercing sound startled the two men in the driver's cab, causing them to turn around abruptly.
A metal hand was wedged in the closing door. An ordinary limb would have been severed on the spot, but this hand not only didn't deform, but it actually squeezed and deformed the eight-centimeter-thick riot door! Behind
the gap, a pair of cold, terrifying blue eyes stared intently at them, like a beast lurking in the darkness.
"Didn't you want to come out and have some fun? What are you hiding for?"
The chilling words pierced their hearts like sharp icicles.
*Screech—*
The riot door was violently pushed back, the gears scraping together with a shrill sound.
Horatio's arm grew increasingly hot, the cooling system constantly spewing out scalding coolant steam.
"Ugh!"
*Crack! *
The two cultists were dumbfounded. This was a riot control door, eight centimeters thick and weighing half a ton, that only anti-armor weapons could penetrate!
And this rather thin young man had actually pushed it back with his bare hands?!
Hiss—the vapor from the coolant increased until it blurred their vision.
In the billowing vapor curtain, a figure swayed and straightened, appearing particularly sinister and terrifying in the mist.
*Tap, tap.*
Dull footsteps approached, growing ever closer.
"Ah...ah!" The first man to open the door stared in disbelief, his face deathly pale, as if he'd seen a ghost in the dead of night.
Bang!
A sudden explosion of gunpowder echoed from the small driver's cabin.
He turned to see his fellow believer in the passenger seat, mouth agape, face upturned, eyes vacant and hopeless, slumped on the dashboard. Blood gushed from the back of his head, soaking the dashboard, a pistol falling limply from his hand.
"A real...devil..."
Before he could turn around, Horatio stepped forward.
*Thud! Smack! A large patch of viscous flesh, slapped across the of the one-way windshield, was stained crimson.