Wilson suppressed the restless steel wings and pushed aside the stick, glaring at the young men surrounding him.
He began to understand that these young people weren't just expressing "individuality" as he had initially thought.
They had evolved beyond "individuality" into something new—a despised and detestable existence in society. They were scum, and while they might be a threat to ordinary people now, society would eventually catch up with them.
"I know what you want. Leave now, or you'll regret it," Wilson advised earnestly. It was best to avoid conflict if possible.
"If you understand, just give us some cash. It's dark here, and there's no one around for miles. We can do whatever we want to you without anyone knowing, so it's better if you just cooperate," the rainbow-haired youth threatened, sensing that Wilson might give in.
"I said, get lost!" Wilson suddenly shouted. He had always been a short-tempered person, and the events of the past few days had pushed him to the brink. Normally, he would have already fought back, but he couldn't risk it now.
The rainbow-haired youth was startled. Wilson's shout carried an aura of authority, a remnant of his former high-status life.
But the youth quickly regained his composure. This was just a down-and-out man sleeping in an underground tunnel—a hunchback, no less. What was he pretending to be?
He raised the baton and struck Wilson on the head. His companions joined in, kicking and punching Wilson.
Wilson, having been deprived of normal life for days and exhausted, could only curl up and take the beating. He also had to focus on suppressing the steel wings, so he ended up on the ground, being brutally beaten.
In the dimly lit tunnel, a common but rarely witnessed act of violence was unfolding.
Enduring the pain, Wilson curled up and whispered to himself.
"Don't move, stay calm, don't move. They don't deserve to die..."
Behind him, the metal wings trembled, eager to unfold and reduce these fragile beings to pieces.
But Wilson pressed his back against the wall, trying to keep the wings from bursting out. He believed that if he could just endure, they would eventually leave.
Over the past few days, he had somewhat reached a tacit understanding with the wings, allowing him to barely keep them under control.
However, he didn't notice the faint black mist in the young men's eyes. They wouldn't stop until Wilson was dead.
After a few strikes, the rainbow-haired youth grew tired and stepped back to smoke a cigarette, watching the brutal scene unfold.
"What are you enduring? Do you think these societal dregs are worth your pain and humiliation?" a light, mocking voice suddenly whispered in Wilson's ear.
"Who are you?" Wilson struggled to get the words out amidst the punches and kicks.
"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is who you are.
You possess a power beyond what these ordinary people have. You should be above them, a being separate from these mundane creatures.
Why suffer such pain and humiliation in this filthy place? Embrace your true nature and show them who you really are!"
As the voice spoke, a trace of black mist appeared in Wilson's eyes, and his expression grew visibly fiercer.
Swish!
A pair of enormous, gleaming metal wings suddenly unfurled behind Wilson, shining like an angel's wings in the dim light.
The wings fluttered rapidly, and the nearest youths were instantly sliced apart, blood splattering everywhere.
Wilson stood up, his metal wings now fully visible. Each wing was composed of twenty steel feathers of varying sizes, connected by rivets and chains. There were no mechanical parts, yet the wings moved with incredible flexibility, more agile than a bird's wings.
"What you said isn't really true. I'm not above others. I should be patient..."
Wilson wiped the blood from his face, and the black mist in his eyes faded away.
"But I'm done with patience!"
The youths who had attacked Wilson were now dead, but the rainbow-haired youth had managed to escape. He stared in shock, his cigarette falling from his mouth.
"Monster! You're a goddamn monster!"
The youth screamed in terror and ran as fast as he could, hoping to escape with his life.
He had run nearly ten meters when he turned to see that Wilson wasn't chasing him, a glimmer of hope in his heart. Perhaps he was safe at this distance.
But his hope was short-lived. Wilson's left wing suddenly extended bizarrely, with its twenty steel feathers forming a long chain. The chain shot forward, piercing the youth's chest.
Clap, clap, clap.
A man dressed in a red vest, with black and white paint on his face, stepped out of the shadows, clapping his hands.
"That was spectacular. A combat ability, huh? I'm quite envious of that."
"Were you the one speaking in my head just now?" Wilson asked, his voice low.
"That's right, it was me," the man answered with a smile.
"What's your goal?" Wilson asked cautiously.
"You can call me Mr. J. It's a waste for someone like you to rot away in a place like this. Superhumans are meant to rule the world, to enjoy greater power. I'd like to invite you to join our organization," Mr. J said, smiling.
"You're not some kind of cult, are you?" Wilson asked suddenly.
"Of course not. We don't do that worshipping thing," Mr. J replied with a smile. Due to the paint on his face, even when expressionless, he still looked like he was smiling.
"Forget it. I don't care what you're up to. I'll go with you. There's no turning back for me now," Wilson said, a hint of melancholy in his voice as he shook the blood off his wings.
…
Wen Wen stood amidst a pile of mangled corpses, his narrow eyes glowing with a dangerous light.
This was the underground passage where Wilson had just gone on a rampage.
The wounds on these bodies matched the marks found in Wilson's study. It was obvious who was responsible.
"Damn it… Still too late. With the underground clinic and now this, he's killed at least ten people. Who knows how many more will die if this continues? I can't delay any longer."
After leaving the underground clinic, Wen Wen had followed Wilson's trail. As long as Wilson left any trace, Wen Wen could use it to track him down.
If Wilson's wife had contacted him earlier, he would have already found Wilson and prevented these two massacres.
"I'll have to be ready for a fight. Negotiating might not be an option anymore, but…"
Wen Wen closed his eyes, carefully discerning the scents in the air. Wilson must have left only recently.
What scent is a vampire most sensitive to?
The smell of blood!