The taxi swerved erratically across the asphalt, executing a chaotic display of high-speed maneuvers.
"What the absolute fuck!"
The driver fought desperately to maintain a grip on the steering wheel with one hand, using his other arm to frantically tear at the hands constricting his throat.
"You crazy piece of shit, what are you doing?"
Nick Rice offered zero reply. The absolute darkness in his eyes expanded exponentially, to the point where a dense, black mist began violently discharging from his skin.
The next second.
The driver's jaw was forced completely open.
Nick Rice lunged across the console, unhinging his own jaw as a torrent of thick, suffocating black fog surged from his throat, dumping into the driver's open mouth like liquid refuse.
The driver instantly went rigid, his consciousness turning completely blank.
Yet within seconds, that blankness hardened into the chilling void of a reanimated corpse.
"Drive."
Nick Rice settled back into the passenger seat, stabilizing the raw adrenaline of utilizing his newly acquired internal power. He directed a cold look at the driver, whose eyes had turned milky white.
"Get us out of the city."
The driver offered no verbal acknowledgement. Nodding with the mechanical precision of a true zombie, he slammed his foot flat against the accelerator.
The taxi surged forward once more.
Trailing the target vehicle from a safe distance, Carrie spoke into her encrypted line to Locke.
"That energy... is it Blackheart's power?"
"Precisely. I'm closing in on your position now."
"...Understood."
Locke terminated the transmission. With a fluid flick of his right wrist, the Peerless Divine Weapon materialized into his palm before he smoothly tossed it toward the empty shoulder of the highway.
*Snap, crackle!*
The weapon shifted and writhed mid-air like a stream of liquid metal. The moment it made structural contact with the concrete, it expanded into a physical manifestation reminiscent of a Green Lantern construct, resolving into a stunning, custom gold Audi R8.
*Vroom!*
The high-performance engine delivered a ferocious, roaring rumble.
Locke unfastened the center button of his designer suit, pulled the door open, and slipped into the driver's seat. Stomping on the pedal, he transformed the vehicle into a streak of golden lightning, tearing down the highway toward the George Washington Bridge.
As an artifact representing the Golden Legend grade, the Peerless Divine Weapon possessed the structural adaptability to manifest not just high-performance sports cars, but fully functional aircraft if required.
*Whoosh!*
The gold Audi R8 cleared a major intersection at standard transit speeds. The brilliant, reflective finish instantly captured the attention of three traffic officers stationed near the median.
"Look at that Audi R8."
"Is that the Peerless Assassin?"
"No, that one is solid gold." An older traffic officer let out a massive yawn.
"The Peerless Assassin strictly operates a silver Audi R8—the perfect balance of high profile and low key."
A younger officer spoke up cautiously, "Should we flag this to dispatch anyway?"
"Absolutely not!" The veteran officer shook his head firmly. "The tactical teams have already cornered the assassin inside that apartment block. Even if the asset managed to slip the net, that failure falls entirely outside our jurisdiction. If we log a report now, the higher-ups will simply use it as an excuse to shift the blame onto our precinct. Do you understand?"
When structural failure occurred within the municipal system, initiating a proactive resolution was never the US tradition.
Shifting the blame was.
...
A short duration later.
Carrie, having just exited her transit vehicle, watched the gold Audi R8 glide effortlessly toward the shoulder. She pulled the passenger door open, slid into the leather interior, and pointed toward the unfolding highway system ahead.
"He redirected down that route."
Locke offered an affirmative grunt.
At this juncture, he no longer required the assistance of a tracking card; his refined six senses had completely locked onto the unique biological signature of Nick Rice, who had systematically bartered his soul to Blackheart.
Carrie creased her brows.
"So, he willingly traded his existence to Blackheart?"
Carrie was aware that Nick Rice had compromised himself to an infernal entity, though Locke hadn't explicitly specified Blackheart's identity prior to this. However, having personally clashed with the demon before, the unique resonance of that specific hellfire energy made the correlation instantaneous.
Locke nodded. "Yes."
"Who did he use as a sacrificial catalyst?"
"Judging by the forensic metrics, likely his entire family lineage."
"..."
Locke glanced briefly at Carrie, a gentle smile gracing his features.
"Not every individual possesses your inherent moral compass, Carrie. For entities of that caliber, whoever feeds them is deemed a master. Though in reality, higher-tier Archdemons completely despise dealing with trash like this; only bottom-tier wraiths who can't even qualify for the baseline hierarchy would entertain such a transaction."
In essence, Blackheart had single-handedly degraded the broader prestige of the entire infernal realm.
It was no wonder the demon was so thoroughly ostracized back home.
Even the working girls in the San Fernando Valley understood that once you associated yourself with certain low-tier productions, your market valuation would experience a catastrophic decline.
Within minutes.
Locke closed the distance to the hijacked yellow cab as it cleared the George Washington Bridge exit.
Carrie observed the target vehicle with curiosity.
"Where is his flight trajectory heading?"
"He's likely calculating a direct overland escape route straight to Mexico."
Locke remarked dryly. Noticing the taxi was attempting to navigate toward a highly familiar local destination, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator.
"Alright, let's conclude this farce right here."
Any further down this road would lead to the textile mill... no, the newly restructured pharmaceutical manufacturing plant.
*Boom!*
The gold Audi R8 shot forward like a precision projectile.
The next split second.
*CRASH!*
"Ah!"
"Fuck!"
The gold Audi R8 functioned like a charging bull, its heavily reinforced front bumper violently impacting the rear of the yellow cab. The kinetic force sent Nick Rice's head smashing directly into the dashboard, leaving a massive, angry red contusion across his forehead.
Nick Rice whipped his head around to look out the shattered rear window.
The gleaming gold Audi R8 was incredibly blinding under the sun.
"Hi there!"
"Fuck!"
Nick Rice watched the driver of the gold vehicle offer a casual wave through the window before a sleek, matte-black firearm barrel smoothly extended past the frame. His temper flared into absolute rage.
*Bang!*
*Bang!*
Two precision rounds detonated in perfect sequence, obliterating the taxi's left and right front tires simultaneously. The front suspension collapsed violently against the asphalt with a sickening crunch, sending the chassis airborne.
The vehicle flipped twice through the air before landing with a massive, heavy crash directly across the narrow access road that originally serviced the old textile mill.
The gold Audi R8 came to a smooth, controlled halt.
Locke and Carrie stepped out of the vehicle in unison from opposite sides.
A short distance away.
Several active field operators representing the Assassin Brotherhood emerged from the perimeter of the restructured facility. Their gazes swept across the overturned taxi before locking instantly onto Locke and Carrie.
The operators' expressions shifted dynamically.
Right at that moment.
"Stand down!"
Rosa, a familiar associate of Locke who had acquired the historical fortress estate under his personal recommendation, strode forward from the facility entrance. She issued the directive to her operators before sharing a brief embrace with Locke. Turning to her crew, she introduced him,
"This is Peerless. He is an active, verified member of our Brotherhood."
The surrounding operators exchanged glances.
Rosa turned back to Locke. "These individuals were successfully recovered within the past year utilizing our ancestral genetic synchronization protocols."
Locke gave an understanding nod.
Callum Lynch and Rosa had both reclaimed their historical identities through the Eden synchronization technology. Following the systematic dismantling of the Templar apparatus, retaining access to that specific infrastructure was a logical operational choice.
Rosa's gaze then drifted toward the young woman standing at Locke's flank.
Locke prepared to initiate the introduction, "This is—"
"The Dark Sovereign!" Rosa cut in smoothly.
"..."
Carrie maintained an icy, detached facial expression, though internal curiosity flared within her mind.
Locke looked at Rosa with genuine amusement. "How did you deduce that identity?"
Rosa let out a soft laugh. "New York Television just broadcasted a massive network promotional trailer. Our entire facility is currently tracking the updates. By the way, do we have authorization to spectate the live execution?"
Locke smiled. "Naturally."
It wasn't a significant issue.
Rosa's Assassin Brotherhood was already slated for systematic integration into his broader operational network eventually.
The only reason he hadn't executed the merger yet was due to their limited current roster, compounded by the fact that their primary operational lead—Callum Lynch, the man who constantly insisted he bore zero relation to Magneto, aside from appearance—was currently managing overseas logistics. Furthermore, Locke's primary focus remained his academic studies.
Right then, a violent shifting sound echoed from the wreckage of the overturned taxi.
*Cough, cough.*
The passenger side door was violently kicked open from the interior. Covered in thick road grime and radiating a heavy aura of black mist like a ghoul emerging from the underworld, Nick Rice crawled out onto the dirt.
Simultaneously.
The reanimated driver followed behind him. One of his arms had been completely severed during the impact, leaving a bloody, jagged stump, yet he displayed zero consciousness of physical trauma.
Letting out a feral, guttural roar upon clearing the wreckage, the zombie lunged directly toward Locke's position.
Locke didn't even bother to turn his head. "Syndra."
Standing right beside him, Carrie extended her right palm toward the charging corpse, whose rotted teeth and milky, lifeless eyes were fully exposed.
*Hummm!*
A concentrated Dark Sphere materialized instantaneously within Carrie's palm before launching forward, impacting the reanimated driver dead center.
*Thud!*
The moment the dark energy sphere connected with the corpse's torso, it collapsed into a miniature localized singularity. With a sharp, silent distortion, the spatial field warped inward, swallowing the zombie whole without leaving a single trace of matter behind.
[Ding! Daily Justice Objective Concluded.]
[Reward: 200 Achievement Points, 200 Potential Points.]
Locke elevated an eyebrow.
When Carrie eliminated a standard street-level narcotics distributor, the system yielded a baseline of one hundred points. Terminating an infernal reanimated puppet yielded exactly double that valuation?
Locke stroked his chin thoughtfully.
A fascinating tactical concept began to take shape within his mind.
'An infernal farming exploit.'
However...
Locke dismissed the notion almost instantly. While the strategy theoretically offered a high yield, the time investment required to cultivate infernal assets was far too inefficient.
Furthermore, Carrie wasn't an automated machine; if he truly desired to optimize his point generation, he could easily achieve cleaner metrics simply by completing the standard objectives scattered across his high school campus.
"Do not move!"
Carrie directed her gaze toward the trembling, infernal-soaked form of Nick Rice. Three distinct Dark Spheres manifested in a perfect orbit around her silhouette, her expression entirely devoid of warmth.
"Do not even attempt to invoke your master's presence."
Nick Rice clutched a doll tightly in each hand, swallowing hard as he stared up at the volatile dark matter hovering inches from his face.
The next fraction of a second.
*Whack!*
Nick Rice's head snapped back violently as one of the Dark Spheres delivered a precise, blunt-force impact directly to his skull. His cognitive faculties instantly short-circuited into a high-pitched ring before he collapsed unconscious onto the dirt.
*Thud!*
His body fell limp like a dead dog, kicking up a small cloud of dust upon impact.
Locke bent down to retrieve the two resentment dolls, securing them in his inventory before turning back to Rosa, who was clad in her traditional medieval assassin attire.
"If you depart with us, will the manufacturing facility remain secure?"
Rosa smiled confidently. "It's perfectly fine. Lynch is scheduled to return within the next forty-eight hours regardless."
Locke nodded. "Then let us proceed."
With that.
Locke hoisted Nick Rice's limp form off the ground by his collar, tossing him carelessly into the trunk of the gold R8. After conveying the coordinates of the destination to Rosa, he pulled out his personal phone and dialed Patty Finn's direct line.
Every single variable was now perfectly aligned; it was time to begin the broadcast.
***
Damn 200 stones already, stone me more and let us reach 500 stones this week.
Next bonus at 300 stones and 3 bonus if we hit 500 stones
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