The labyrinthine layout of the apartment building didn't slow him. He had already committed the route to memory.
It took him over two minutes to get back down to the first floor. He pulled his mask back on, then placed the massive 2,800-pound TNT charge at the base of the main staircase and activated the fuse.
He stepped out of the front door. The six guards who had been waiting there saw him and moved to intercept. He didn't even need his Super Reflexes. In two seconds, all six of them had two throwing knives in their throats.
He ran for the fortified bunker twenty meters away.
He threw two 5-pound TNT charges through the main firing slit, then two more through the smaller slits on the sides.
BOOM! BOOM!
The bunker shuddered, massive cracks appearing in its stone walls, but it did not collapse. The men inside, however, were finished.
He continued his charge down the long alleyway, throwing charges into the firing slits in the walls as he went. The guards inside finally reacted, and a hail of lead erupted from the walls. Eight of his white pearl husks shattered.
He reached the back door of the Phoenix Brothers Hotel just as the last of his charges detonated behind him. The door was thrown open by four more guards. Two daggers appeared in his hands. He was a phantom, a blur of motion, and in an instant, the four men were dead, their hearts and throats pierced.
He ran through the hotel, out the front door, and into the crowded street. No one paid him any mind. He was just another man in a hurry. He disappeared into a side street.
He found a deserted alley, removed his mask, and changed his disguise. He summoned a chestnut-colored horse and rode for the Upper East Side.
Behind him, at the Whyos headquarters, the men on the ground and second floors, hearing the explosions, began to pour out of the building to hunt for the enemy.
Only a few made it out.
The 1.27-ton TNT charge at the base of the staircase detonated with a deafening, earth-shattering roar.
The entire apartment building collapsed in on itself. The few men who had managed to get out were killed instantly by the shrapnel and the massive concussive blast.
Henry, the man who had just erased a nexus of evil, simply rode away, melting back into the fabric of the city.
He changed his disguise and his horse twice more, then, just after 1 PM, he arrived back at the Astor House.
He didn't go to see Alice and the others. He checked their room number at the front desk, then went to his own suite, barricaded the door with granite blocks, and took a hot shower.
The attack had yielded a massive harvest: 138 grey pearls, 65 white, and 12 green. His progress bar was now at 40.96%. Only two of the green pearls pulsed with a skill.
He used them both.
The warm current washed over him. He was flooded with the phantom memories of a master guitarist and a world-class tennis player.
Two minutes later, he had two new skills: Guitar LV 4 and Tennis LV 3.
He ate a hearty lunch from his supplies, then changed into a clean white shirt and black trousers, and went to Rachel's room.
He heard the sound of light, hurried footsteps from inside.
"Who is it?" a young woman's voice called out, slightly hoarse and magnetic.
"It's me, Henry."
The door flew open. Rachel stood there, her face a mixture of surprise and relief.
"Good afternoon, Rachel."
"Henry! You're back! Thank God," she said, her voice filled with gratitude.
He followed her into the room. Alice and Robert were waiting.
"Mr. Robert," Henry said, "how are your injuries?"
The man looked at him, a dawning realization in his eyes. He recognized the voice. "I'm fine," he said. "Thank you, Henry. A thousand times, thank you."
"It was my pleasure," Henry said. "Please, sit. I have an update for you."
They all sat, Rachel and her father on the long sofa, Henry and Alice in the armchairs opposite.
"Carter and Mike have gone to meet Satan," Henry said, his voice calm and even. "The Whyos headquarters has been destroyed. You will not have to worry about them any longer."
Alice, Rachel, and Robert stared at him, their faces a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. The Whyos, the undisputed kings of the New York underworld for over a decade, the most feared and powerful criminal organization in the city… gone? It was impossible. It was a phantom, a dream.