Chapter 232: The Unchained
Rubble and debris poured down like a waterfall.
Rumble—crash!
The reinforced floors of two levels had been smashed through in succession,
leaving a jagged crater over two meters wide. Looking up through the gap, one
could see the night sky and the flashing lights of the city.
Zzap!
Due to the sudden structural damage, the electrical grid on the eighteenth floor
flickered violently before plunging the level into darkness. Fortunately, the
hotel's architecture allowed the neon glow of Ginza to spill through the
floor-to-ceiling windows, providing enough light to see the man who had just
descended from the heavens.
He wore polished leather shoes, loose-fitting black trousers, and a
short-sleeved shirt patterned with high-end Paisley silk. It was a casual,
almost vacation-ready outfit, but the man's physique was anything but ordinary.
Bloated? No.
It wasn't bloat. It was the absolute limit of dense, compact, and
hyper-developed Muscle!!
He stood 190cm tall and weighed at least 170kg. With broad shoulders and a
narrow waist, his body formed a perfect, terrifying "inverted triangle." Even
the loose silk shirt couldn't hide the slabs of armor-like muscle covering his
frame. His bare forearms were so massive they were thicker than the waist of an
average woman.
He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, with deep bronze skin.
His black hair was cropped short, and a thin mustache lined his upper lip. He
wore a serene, arched-eyebrow smile that revealed two rows of perfect white
teeth.
"—I am... Oliva."
The man introduced himself with a slight shrug, shaking the dust from his
shoulders. His eyes scanned the room, passing over the scarred mastermind before
settling on the quartet across the hall.
"Oh!"
Oliva looked surprised for a heartbeat, then stepped forward to offer a hand to
Ren Shiroki. His massive palm didn't exert any pressure, but it felt incredibly
solid—warm and vibrating with the heavy flow of high-velocity blood circulation.
"A pleasure to meet you, Shiroki-san."
Oliva smiled elegantly. "I've seen your file. You're the one who took down
Dorian. He's currently being processed for transfer to Arizona State Prison. My
department appreciates the assistance."
Ren felt the staggering weight of the man's presence. He gripped the hand for a
moment longer than necessary, nodding. "Don't mention it. Happy to help."
It was a standard exchange, yet looking at Oliva was like staring up at a
mountain of living meat. The pressure was suffocating.
Ohma Tokita swallowed hard, his muscles tensing by reflex. Kazuo Yamashita,
meanwhile, was practically hyperventilating. "W-Who is this guy? Is he even
human?!"
"Oliva."
Fusui Kure's pupils quivered behind her goggles. "I thought he was just a
legend... I didn't think I'd see the real thing today."
"Biscuit Oliva—a Cuban-American powerhouse who reigns over the lawless world
through sheer, unadulterated grip-strength and genius-level intellect."
"Because no one on Earth is more unbound by law or logic than him, he's known as
'Mr. Unchained'. The man who cannot be shackled."
Fusui looked up at the pulverized ceiling. "If Baki-kun's father is the
'Strongest Creature,' then this man is the 'Freest Creature.' He's the man no
cell can hold."
"—!"
Hearing this, Oliva turned his gaze toward Fusui, his eyes wide. Kazuo Yamashita
froze, terrified that the giant was about to take offense at being called a
prisoner.
However, Oliva suddenly offered a shallow, courtly bow. "I am honored by the
praise, beautiful Lady." He winked. "As expected of the Kure Clan. Your
intelligence gathering is top-tier."
"Hard to forget a man like you," Fusui replied, taking a breath to steady
herself. "Oliva is technically an inmate of the Arizona State Prison, yet he
lives like a King, entering and leaving as he pleases."
A prisoner? Free? Presidential treatment? Kazuo's head spun. "B-But... why?"
"Aside from the fact that no lock can hold me," Oliva replied casually, "it is
because I am a very efficient Hunter. Most of the inmates in Arizona were put
there by my hands. No matter the criminal, I can always bring them to justice."
To Kazuo, it sounded like a tall tale from a pulp novel. But after the last few
weeks, he knew better than to doubt it. "Wait... if you're technically a
prisoner, why help catch other criminals?"
"Heh—"
Oliva stood straight, a brilliant smile on his face as he addressed the room.
"Kidnappings? Terrorist strikes? Leave them to me."
"Whether it's IDEAL, The Worm, or the three remaining death row convicts... I
will handle them all."
"You want to know why?"
Oliva's voice dropped into a deep, resonant rumble. "Because I refuse to allow
anyone on this planet to be more free than I am!!"
The declaration was absolute. No one in the room could find the words to argue.
Even the scarred mastermind at the end of the hall could only cut in with a
snarl.
"Finished with your pleasantries? Mr. Oliva... do you still remember me?"
The scarred man leveled his tactical shotgun, pointing to his horrific, ruined
face. "I am former New York State Police Officer, Jeff Maxon."
When Oliva didn't respond, Jeff continued:
"Twenty-four years ago. Manhattan, 7th Street. I was taking a small... 'service
fee' from some hippies when you suddenly appeared behind me. I lost my temper
and tried to kick you, but you treated me like a stray dog. You dismantled my
body."
"My face, my arms, my legs—all pulverized. You left me with just enough life to
feel the agony. I've spent twenty-four years in a state of living death,
preparing for this day."
Jeff's expression turned demonic as he centered the sights on Oliva's chest.
"I'm going to make you regret not finishing the job that day."
Jeff was remarkably calm. Twenty-four years of concentrated rage had been
converted into cold, calculated action. He didn't mind waiting a few more
minutes; he wanted to savor every second of Oliva's presence.
He gestured with the barrel for Oliva to step forward.
Oliva walked slowly toward the pitch-black muzzle, a wide, predatory grin
spreading across his face.
"What a misunderstanding, Jeff." Oliva chuckled. "You're like a fine vintage
that's been aging in a barrel for two decades. I'm just about to pull the cork
and pour a glass..."
"Let's see if you can make my heart race!"
Oliva stopped three meters away.
CLACK!
Jeff racked a shell into the chamber. "Strip. Every stitch. I don't want you
hiding any gadgets under those silk rags."
Oliva complied. He tossed aside his Paisley shirt and his trousers, standing in
nothing but a pair of black briefs.
"Is this better, Jeff? Though we should apologize to the lady for the lack of
decorum—"
Oliva stood bladed. His hyper-developed musculature was even more staggering
than Dr. Shinogi's. His muscles didn't look like flesh; they looked like living
armor plates, every fiber carved with geometric precision.
Seeing this, even with the gun in his hand, Jeff felt a bead of cold sweat roll
down his temple. So that's why I couldn't beat him as a cop...
His finger tightened on the trigger. "It was worth the wait."
Oliva didn't flinch. "Let us celebrate our reunion, Jeff!"
"Heh." Jeff sneered and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The shotgun roared. In that same microsecond, Oliva stepped forward with his
left leg, using the massive density of his thigh muscles to shield his groin
while crossing his arms in front of his face.
PUFF-PUFF-PUFF!
A cloud of acrid white smoke swallowed the giant. Jeff racked the shotgun again
and again, emptying the entire magazine into Oliva's bare chest.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Six rounds. When the magazine was dry, Jeff finally stopped. Oliva was still
enveloped in the hazy smoke of the gunpowder. As it cleared, a hundred tiny,
lead-colored pits were visible across his arms and legs. Blood began to trickle
from the punctures.
"H-He hit him?!" Kazuo almost screamed, but he quickly realized something was
off.
Looking closer, the "wounds" were barely skin-deep. Despite being shot at
point-blank range, the buckshot hadn't penetrated into the muscle. The lead
pellets were flattened against the surface of his skin, held there by the sheer,
inhuman density of his flesh.
Oliva's body was literally harder than lead.
"Heh..."
Oliva smiled. He suddenly flexed his entire body.
Pop-pop-pop!
Dozens of lead spheres were suddenly ejected from his skin by the sheer
contraction of his muscles, clattering harmlessly onto the floor like dropped
coins.
"The caliber is too small, Jeff," Oliva noted casually, resetting his posture.
"A shotgun can't take me down any more than it can take down a grizzly. You
can't penetrate my 'Shield'."
Jeff gave a hollow, sinister laugh. "I knew that."
"Oh?" Oliva looked delighted. "So you have a backup plan? If it's a high-caliber
rifle, though, I'm afraid I'll have to move before you can aim~"
Jeff didn't answer. He reached behind his back and drew a concealed, razor-sharp
Katana.
He had known from the start that a shotgun wouldn't do it. The gun was a feint—a
lure to make Oliva drop his guard and engage in close quarters. The steel blade
was the true killing blow.
SHINK!
Jeff swung the blade in a diagonal cleave. Oliva sidestepped the first strike
effortlessly.
"I knew you'd dodge that!" Jeff pivoted, centering the tip of the blade on
Oliva's heart. He drove the sword forward with a desperate, two-handed thrust!
SHINK!
The tip of the katana struck Oliva's left pectoral.
But to Jeff's horror, the steel didn't slide into the chest. It stopped dead.
The tip had only penetrated a fraction of a millimeter—not even enough to draw a
proper drop of blood. Oliva reached down and grabbed the blade with his bare
hand, pinning it in place.
"There is a solid plate of muscle protecting my heart, Jeff. Japanese steel
isn't quite up to the task."
Oliva let out a long, bored sigh. "You're really quite dull."
In a blurred motion, Oliva twisted his chest to the left. The lateral pressure
snapped the katana blade in two like a dry twig. Simultaneously, Oliva's right
fist fired out, slamming directly into Jeff's chest.
BOOM!!!
A sickening THUD echoed through the hall. Jeff's chest cavity underwent a
visible, violent deformation, caving in several inches. He was launched
backward, crashing through the window of the eighteenth floor and plummeting
into the Ginza night.
Jeff Maxon was dead before his body even cleared the windowsill. His heart and
lungs had been pulverized into a red paste by a single blow.
"Twenty-four years and you haven't learned a thing. What a waste," Oliva
muttered. He turned back to retrieve his clothes and began dressing. He looked
at the four spectators.
"Now then, gentlemen. No need to stand on ceremony."
Oliva shook a finger at them, offering a warm, friendly smile. "I'll see the
hostages safely to the ground. You all just stay here and wait like good boys.
I'll have this wrapped up in minutes."
With that, Oliva headed for the stairs.
Kazuo Yamashita let out a long, weary sigh. Having spent time with warriors like
Ohma and Ren, he knew exactly how this was going to go.
There is zero chance these guys are going to 'wait like good boys', he thought.
Especially not after being told to stay back like children.
Sure enough, Ren Shiroki and Ohma Tokita were both cracking their knuckles, a
look of distinct annoyance on their faces. Being looked down on by the "Freest
Man on Earth" had lit a fresh fire in their blood.
"Yep... they're going after him."
Kazuo gave up on reason and scrambled after the three of them.
Honestly... how many 'Monsters' are currently inside this building?!
(End of Chapter)
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Hollowborn
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you