Kashia didn't care what the other man was thinking.
All he wanted was to see an opening and then kill him.
Just as Kashia was about to go for the kill, to kick the cur while it was down and finish the guy off—
someone had already noticed the commotion and was closing in.
A gunshot rang out.
"Over here!" A shout followed right after.
Four Mafia members ran over. The bald one leading them fired the shot and yelled; he was the first to see Mahaka in a wretched state.
Behind him, the Gang members opened fire on Kashia.
Bullets whizzed past; Kashia's body flashed away from the spot.
Glancing at Mahaka, Kashia gave up the chance to kill him.
The man still had some fight left. Pressing on, Kashia might manage to kill him—but more likely he'd be pinned down.
Besides, the place was crawling with their men, and who knew if any Nen Users were among them.
On top of that, his Nen at the moment couldn't fully stop bullets.
There was no need to fight.
"Looks like your luck's good." Leaving that line, Kashia spun and charged the gunmen.
His figure flickered; the gunmen panicked even more, their aim turning wild.
That let Kashia close in without much effort.
He'd half-expected Mahaka to risk everything and intercept him, but the worry proved pointless.
These men had only banded together for profit; if you're dead, money's useless.
Mahaka hesitated, chose inaction, and simply hid, watching Kashia.
Without Mahaka in the way, the gunmen would have to rely on luck.
"Die." Facing ordinary gunmen, Kashia made no secret of his intent to slaughter everyone around.
Up close, his Nen magnified his bloodlust into a twisted aura.
Not enough to cripple the Mafia outright, but enough to daze them for a heartbeat.
A heartbeat was all he needed—several Nen Bullets spat out in rapid succession.
The first four Mafia men never noticed what hit them; holes appeared in their heads and they crumpled.
"At marksmanship, you're way out of your league."
He stripped the corpses of guns and ammo almost as an afterthought.
Walking out, he reloaded on the move.
The street still held enemies—and plenty of them.
But Kashia was confident.
He killed on sight.
Anyone holding a gun was a target.
Nen Bullets or lead—one of them always flew.
"Coating bullets with Nen costs far less Nen than pure Nen Bullets."
Veteran of war, Kashia's shooting was solid.
Along the way he picked up new tricks with Nen.
Almost playfully, whenever he sensed a person—hidden behind cars, walls, whatever—he punched right through and killed.
He wasn't so bored he had to kill every single one.
The slaughter was deterrence; let them hunt him while fearing death.
Hesitation buys time, and time lets him handle other business.
Crack-crack-crack…
Bullets flew, dropping a man here and there.
More Mafia searchers arrived, but they trembled, no longer cocky.
They started hiding.
Too many had died for no apparent reason.
Many never saw it coming before a bullet burst them open.
The gap was simply too vast.
Gunfire along the street lasted a little over two minutes before tapering off.
Kashia's figure had long vanished.
By the end the Mafia were shooting wild, even hitting their own.
In a place echoing with gunfire and sudden death, pinpointing a target is nearly impossible; their rounds were just luck and suppression.
On a battlefield, even soldiers can't expect hits if the enemy has the slightest cover.
Kashia, though, had just played in cheat mode.
The faintest rustle and his Nen Bullet blew them apart—walls, cars, nothing stopped it. How could anyone compete?
The gunfire had ceased, yet unease still clung to the street.
It lingered until Mahaka appeared.
Surveying the corpses,
Mahaka's face was grim.
Whether against him or the men here, the killer had shown ruthless decisiveness.
"This guy…"
Surviving this time, he truly felt luck had smiled on him.
Of course, the man hadn't spared him out of kindness.
He simply hadn't wanted to waste time or be tied down.
Knowing that, Mahaka had stayed motionless, afraid any move might be misread.
After all, compared with money or anything else, his life came first.
He'd even thought that if Kashia got bogged down by the gunmen, he'd step in and stall him.
Turned out he'd been overthinking.
Staying alive was already a win.
As time slipped by,
other Ability Users arrived, the Big Shots showed up.
The air of dread lifted bit by bit, but memories of the dead kept many Mafia faces gloomy.
Eventually Mikael reached the scene.
"Trash—every last one of you."
"Over a hundred men here and you couldn't catch one guy?"
"And you lost this many?"
Mikael was in a rage; he didn't care about injuries or sob stories.
To him, failure to stop Kashia meant you were garbage.
He even glared at Mahaka.
"I did everything I could. If he hadn't been in a hurry, you wouldn't be seeing me." Mahaka's heart sank—this was blame-shifting.
Between admitting incompetence and cowardice, Mahaka chose the former.
Having confessed to uselessness, he began hyping how terrifying Kashia was—
how he'd been crushed in an instant, how the men here had been massacred.
Even the other Ability Users shifted uncomfortably listening.
Sure, they were Nen Users, but most were only a notch above ordinary Martial Artists.
Against a top Martial Artist—or a killer without Nen—they could still be taken out single-handedly.
"…"
Mikael stared at Mahaka, speechless.
Damn.
The man had admitted he was trash—what else could Mikael say?
He was, after all, a Nen User; you couldn't just execute him for that.