On the ground, Byrd struggled in pain.
His limbs had been pinned through, but he hadn't completely lost mobility. The wounds were already showing faint signs of healing.
That was thanks to a strange serum his boss had injected into him before.
If he could just pull himself free from the bone spikes, he might still escape before that monster came back up from the basement.
After that, he could find his boss and take revenge.
As for his men?
They didn't matter.
Nothing mattered more than his own life.
He had no doubt that priest would kill him without hesitation.
But the spikes held him fast.
Like they were welded into the ground.
Before he could think of a way out, Anqiluo returned.
Behind him followed a group of women, their expressions blank, their eyes empty.
Anqiluo's eyes were bloodshot as he looked down at Byrd.
He had already learned what happened.
These women had been abducted at night.
Taken by force.
As for their fate—
There were only two outcomes.
Human experimentation.
Or being sold off to places where no one would come looking.
It brought back memories he didn't want.
Stories from his previous life.
People treated like livestock.
Sold and discarded.
"Look at me."
Anqiluo grabbed Byrd by the collar and lifted him slightly, his voice low and shaking with anger.
"Why?"
Byrd stayed limp, pretending to be dead.
Trying to bluff his way through.
Anqiluo's lips curled.
Without hesitation, he drove the staff straight into Byrd's abdomen.
There was no blade.
Just raw force.
The pain broke him.
Byrd screamed.
And the moment he did—
He knew it was over.
Instead of begging, he stared at Anqiluo and laughed weakly.
No regret.
No fear.
Just defiance.
That was enough.
Anqiluo pulled the staff free.
Then brought it down.
Once.
Byrd's head shattered.
The dead didn't need to repent.
Anqiluo picked up the severed head by the hair.
Blood and torn flesh hung from the neck.
The women behind him finally reacted.
There was life in their eyes again.
But it wasn't relief.
It was fear.
Anqiluo glanced at them and let out a quiet breath.
People like Byrd didn't deserve to be called human.
"Go to Rasuma Church," he said. "In the morning, I'll get you out of Hell's Kitchen."
He didn't wait for a response.
Still holding Byrd's head, he turned and walked away.
The women stood there in silence.
After a long pause, one of them—a Chinese woman with torn clothes but steady eyes—stepped forward.
She clenched her fists.
Then began organizing the others to leave.
From the shadows, Anqiluo watched them go.
Only after he confirmed they were heading toward the church did he raise his hand.
"Corpse Explosion."
The bodies of the fallen gunmen detonated.
One after another.
The blasts ripped through the street like chained explosives.
Each one as powerful as a block of C4.
The ground collapsed inward, forming a crater nearly two meters deep.
Even the basement prison was obliterated.
When it was over—
There was nothing left.
No bodies.
No evidence.
Only the lingering smell of blood.
Anqiluo walked away.
Still carrying Byrd's head.
He moved on to the next target.
This time, he had no interest in talking.
If he found another situation like this—
He would kill first.
Illegal weapons.
Street gangs.
Even drug dealers.
He could tolerate those.
That was part of this country.
But human trafficking?
That crossed the line.
Everywhere.
The explosions didn't go unnoticed.
Every gang leader in Hell's Kitchen heard them.
They were confused.
Terrified.
Up until now, the rules had been simple.
Show up at Rasuma Church in the morning.
Bring one million dollars.
Stay alive.
So what changed?
No one believed someone would risk their life over that money.
Anyone that stupid wouldn't survive here.
Hell's Kitchen had its own logic.
Weakness meant being devoured.
Fighting Anqiluo was not an option.
Alexei had already proven that.
And he was the biggest arms dealer in the area.
Even he had been crushed.
So the orders went out.
Avoid him.
At all costs.
Low-level members were told to stay home.
High-level members gathered around their leaders.
No exceptions.
No excuses.
For the first time since Hell's Kitchen existed—
The night was quiet.
When Anqiluo returned to Rasuma Church, it was earlier than expected.
As he walked through the remaining gang territories, carrying Byrd's severed head, no one resisted.
They welcomed him.
Sent him off politely.
It almost felt wrong.
Like he had targeted the wrong people.
No one dared ask about Byrd.
Inside the church, the rescued women sat together, many of them crying.
Some glanced at Anqiluo with fear.
He felt irritated.
He hadn't stayed earlier for a reason.
He didn't want to deal with this.
He didn't know them.
Their trauma wasn't his responsibility.
Once morning came and they left—
That would be the end of it.
They were adults.
They would have to deal with it themselves.
He had no interest in comforting them.
Fortunately, someone stepped forward.
A Chinese woman, still in torn clothes, but with clear, steady eyes.
She nodded slightly.
"Thank you. Is there hot water here?"
Anqiluo didn't respond verbally.
He dismissed the bone armor, sat down on the platform, and lit a cigar.
Then he pointed toward a wooden door on the side.
"Kitchen's there. Get what you need. Don't go above the second floor. You'll leave at dawn."
The woman nodded and didn't push further.
Anqiluo leaned back, smoking in silence.
Ash fell onto the floor.
He turned on the TV.
A news report played—an explosion somewhere in the UK.
He watched for a moment.
Then turned it off.
No place was truly safe.
He sat there until morning.
Outside, engines began to gather.
Cars.
Lots of them.
The crying inside the church gradually faded.
The first to arrive—
Alexei.
His arm in a cast.