PFC Chapter 391 Slaughter in the Rain (Page 12)
Chapter 391 Slaughter in the Rain (Page 12)
The night was as dark as ink, so thick it seemed to swallow all light.
The sky was devoid of stars and moon; only the neon lights on the city's edge painted a crimson hue amidst the dark clouds.
Shen Qingzhu stood at the entrance of the Black Kill Group headquarters, the hem of her black trench coat fluttering in the night wind, like some ominous banner announcing the coming blood and fire.
His figure was tall and slender, like a sharp blade stuck in the night, its sharpness concealed, yet it sent chills down one's spine.
Behind them, a dozen black cars were lined up neatly, their engines humming loudly in the quiet street, like the suppressed breathing of some giant beast.
With the headlights off, the entire convoy resembled lurking shadows, waiting only for the order to tear through the night and head straight for the enemy camp.
Ken Asakura strode forward, his leather shoes making a soft "tap-tap" sound on the damp ground.
He held a long, sheathed sword in both hands. The sheath was black, with dark red silk cords wrapped around it, resembling dried blood.
He bowed slightly and respectfully handed it over: "Team leader, all the brothers are ready."
Shen Qingzhu did not respond immediately, but slowly raised her hand and lightly flicked the scabbard with her fingertips.
"Zheng——"
A crisp, metallic tremor echoed through the night, as if even the air itself had been cleaved by the sound.
He looked up into the distance—there was the Ghostfire Society's stronghold, occupied by the Han Chuan family. It was brightly lit, its lights standing out starkly in the darkness, flickering as if in defiance.
"Set off."
Shen Qingzhu finally spoke, her voice as cold as if it had been tempered with ice. The two simple words seemed to carry immense power, instantly igniting everyone's fighting spirit.
The convoy, like a long black dragon, drove into the night. The headlights suddenly turned on, piercing the darkness and casting shimmering shadows on the wet road.
The tires rolled over the puddles, splashing up tiny droplets of water, like a silent declaration.
Shen Qingzhu sat in the passenger seat of the lead car, her slender fingers rhythmically tapping the scabbard, her knuckles distinct, with several old scars faintly visible at the joints.
His gaze pierced through the car window, fixed on the distance, a cold glint seemingly flashing deep within his pupils.
The neon lights outside the car window flashed by, casting ever-changing shadows on his cold, handsome profile—sometimes scarlet, sometimes dark blue—making the murderous intent in his eyes even more chilling, like frost condensed on a blade.
Ken Asakura sat in the driver's seat and looked through the rearview mirror at the neat convoy behind him, each car following closely like a silent assassin.
He couldn't help but swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, and cold sweat seeping from his palms.
He knew that after tonight, the landscape of the underworld would be completely rewritten.
At this moment, Shen Qingzhu was like a sharp blade drawn from its sheath—its edge fully revealed, ready to draw blood.
...
Uncle Kyosuke, with a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, squinted, his eyes reflecting the mess inside the black sycamore grove.
The crooked tables and chairs looked as if they had been ravaged by a storm, the broken glass of wine bottles gleamed dangerously under the light, and several dark red bloodstains on the floor had dried but still gave off a faint smell of rust.
He took a deep drag of his cigarette, the bitter taste of nicotine spreading in his mouth, but it couldn't suppress the restless anger in his heart.
"Little girl." He scratched his messy, bird's nest-like hair and turned to Yurina, who was standing to the side, his voice gentle.
"Go buy some cleaning tools nearby. This place looks like it's been hit by a typhoon. It needs a good cleaning." His gaze swept over a knocked-over photo frame in the corner, the photos inside blurred by spilled alcohol.
Yurina nodded obediently, her slender fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes.
Just as she was about to turn around, Xiao Jin darted out of the kitchen like a gust of wind, a signature bright smile on her face:
“I’ll take her! I know every alley around here like the back of my hand!” He grabbed Yurina’s sleeve without further ado, the action as practiced as if he had done it countless times before.
The moment the two pushed open the door, the evening twilight cast an orange-red glow on their backs, and they disappeared into the shadows of the street corner in the blink of an eye.
As the shop door closed, Black Sycamore fell into an eerie silence.
Uncle Kyosuke slowly dragged a relatively intact chair over, its wooden legs scraping harshly on the floor.
He sat down heavily, pulled out his old silver lighter from his crumpled shirt pocket, and with a "click," a flame shot up, relighting the cigarette in his mouth that was almost burning down to the filter.
The rising smoke formed a hazy barrier in front of him, and through this thin veil, his gaze gradually became sharp and cold, as if he had already foreseen everything that was about to happen.
Sure enough, it didn't take long.
The shop door was suddenly pushed open, the force so great that the door panel slammed heavily against the wall with a loud "bang".
Mr. Hanchuan, accompanied by six subordinates dressed in black suits, filed in, their gleaming leather shoes making a rhythmic tapping sound on the wooden floor.
His suit and tie clashed with the run-down bar, and the family crest on his tie clip gleamed coldly under the lights.
His subordinates behind him seemed to be scattered randomly, but each of them was positioned perfectly to block all possible escape routes.
Mr. Jing looked around the space, which was in a terrible state, and finally his gaze fell on the seemingly lazy figure in front of the bar.
Uncle Kyosuke still had a cigarette in his mouth, without even raising his head, and slowly exhaled a puff of smoke.
But behind the swirling smoke, a pair of eyes, like those of a wild beast eyeing its prey, pierced straight ahead.
In that instant, Mr. Jing felt a chill creep up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
He instinctively wanted to back away, but then abruptly stopped himself from doing so.
Uncle Kyosuke slowly stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a harsh sound.
A dangerous smile curled at the corner of his lips, and the glow of his cigarette butt traced a crimson trail in the dimly lit shop.
When he spoke, his hoarse voice carried a chilling glint of laughter:
"Hankawa's dog has finally decided to come to our door on its own?"
Kyosuke's voice was hoarse and deep, each word sounding like it was squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying a strong smell of smoke and alcohol and a long-suppressed murderous intent.
The cigarette butt dangling from his lips glowed intermittently, reflecting off his sinister face in the dimly lit bar.
immediately--
He simply waved his hand lightly!
"Chong-"
A flash of cold light appeared, so fast it almost tore the air apart!
No one saw how he drew the knife; a knife appeared out of thin air in his hand, its blade bearing eerie dark red patterns, as if it had drunk countless cups of blood.
Immediately! A single slash!
The blade flashed like the moon, tracing a perfect arc.
Time seems to freeze at this moment——
Mr. Jing's eyes widened, his pupils reflecting the deadly glint of light. He tried to back away, but found his body wouldn't obey him.
"Pfft-"
Blood splatters!
The three elite members of the Han Chuan family standing at the front froze simultaneously, and a thin line of blood slowly appeared on their necks.
The next second, the three heads slid off neatly, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Before the remaining four thugs could react, Uncle Kyosuke's figure had already swept past like a ghost.
"Shh! Shh! Shh!"
The blade flashed repeatedly, so fast that only afterimages remained.
One person was cut in half at the waist, and his intestines spilled out onto the ground as his upper body slid down.
A straight line of blood appeared on the other person's forehead and down to his groin, and his body slowly split in two.
The third person raised his knife to block, but was cleaved in two along with the knife;
The last man turned to escape, but was pierced through the back of the heart by a thrown dagger and pinned to the wall.
Annihilation!
The entire killing took no more than three seconds, and the bar was already filled with corpses lying haphazardly.
Blood flowed down the cracks in the floorboards, gradually forming a pool of blood.
Mr. Jing knelt on the ground, his abdomen cut open with a gruesome wound, his internal organs vaguely visible.
In his final moments of lucidity, he trembled as he raised his blood-stained hand and spoke in despair:
"Who...are...you?"
Uncle Kyosuke slowly walked up to him, bent down and picked up the bloodstained dagger. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, stubbed it out on Mr. Ii's forehead, and it hissed as it burned.
"Someone you can't afford to mess with!"
Before the words were finished, a flash of light appeared, and Mr. Jing's head rolled to the ground. Uncle Kyosuke flicked the blood off his blade, looked at the corpses scattered on the ground, and clicked his tongue in disdain.
"Is this all the Han Chuan family is capable of?"
He turned and walked to the bar, picked up an unbroken bottle of whiskey, and took a big gulp.
Wine dripped down his chin, mixed with blood, and gleamed eerily under the light.
...
The night was as dark as a knife, and a cold wind swirled through the streets, carrying damp mist.
The Black Kill Group convoy, led by Shen Qingzhu, stopped like ghosts outside the Ghost Fire Society's base.
More than a dozen black cars silently turned off their engines, and the doors opened almost simultaneously. Dozens of team members dressed in black filed out, their movements perfectly synchronized and without making a sound.
The gates of the Ghost Fire Society were wide open, and the interior was brightly lit. The faint sounds of laughter and conversation from members of the Han Chuan family could be heard, indicating that they were unaware of the impending danger.
Shen Qingzhu stood at the front, the hem of her black trench coat lifted by the night wind, revealing the long sword at her waist.
He slightly raised his hand, and the team members behind him immediately stopped in their tracks. The air froze instantly, leaving only the indistinct voices of the Han Chuan family members in the distance.
Just as the Black Killers were about to storm in—
"Who goes there?!" A sharp shout suddenly came from the side.
The Hanchuan family's patrol team emerged from the shadows, led by an officer wielding a short knife, followed by seven or eight armed thugs.
However, when they saw the figure standing at the very front, everyone froze.
"The Black Kill Group... the group leader?!" The Han Chuan family executive's pupils shrank, and his hand holding the knife trembled involuntarily.
You should know that this person is truly renowned.
The true reigning king of the entire underworld.
He's someone most people wouldn't dare mess with.
He led a small gang of assassins to eventually become the strongest underground force.
He fought his way out all by himself.
Who wouldn't be terrified if they saw that?
Shen Qingzhu did not answer, but stared at them coldly, her eyes like ice, but a very faint smile appeared on her lips, as if mocking or pitying.
Cold sweat beaded on the foreheads of the Han Chuan family's cadres, who forced themselves to maintain their composure and shouted, "Team Leader Shen, bringing men into our territory in the middle of the night, isn't that a blatant disrespect to the Han Chuan family?!"
Shen Qingzhu remained silent, but slowly raised her hand, her slender fingers gently stroking the hilt of the knife, a graceful yet murderous movement.
The Han Chuan family cadre swallowed hard, trying to stall for time: "Team Leader Shen, our two families have always kept to ourselves. Why don't we sit down and talk about tonight's matter..."
However, he hadn't finished speaking—
Shen Qingzhu's lips moved slightly, her voice low and cold, yet it resounded like thunder in the night:
"Kurus!!!" (Kill!)
The next second, members of the Black Kill Group surged out like a tide, their blades flashing with a blinding cold light in the darkness.