The slum was suffocating tonight, drenched in a mix of smoke and the distant wails of innocent victims caught in the West Bull gang's madness. Dio pressed his back against the rough stone wall of an abandoned butcher's shop, his breath a little bit labored. His mind ran at high speed. The wound in his shoulder burned. Why? Because the leader of the West Bull was wrapped in a red aura. He has a passive skill that allows him to curve the bullets in mid-air!
What kind of fucking cheat is that? In the crossfire, Dio almost met Hades.
The dark alley ahead of Dio was lit faintly by the flickering neon sign of a rundown bar. From the shadows, Dio's other "eyes" drifted forward. His shadow slid along the cobblestones, rushing like a black snake, silent and unseen. Through it, Dio watched as two gang members kicked in doors, screaming threats at terrified families.
"Stay sharp," he whispered to himself. "No mistakes tonight."
...
Dio's shadow led the way, scouting ahead. He moved through the alleys, careful to avoid spots where the gang might be lurking. Each time the shadow spotted trouble—a pair of thugs dragging someone out into the street, rifles slung lazily over their shoulders—Dio froze, his body pressed against the cold, damp walls. He felt their movements through his shadow's senses, navigating around their positions like a predator avoiding detection.
A screech of tires made him flinch. He ducked under a derelict cart as a truck full of armed West Bulls rolled past, their headlights slicing through the darkness. Dio barely breathed. His shadow melted under the vehicle, tracking their direction, confirming when the coast was clear.
The leader was the key. Without him, the West Bulls were just a rabid mob with no leash. Dio reached a decrepit water tower that gave him a vantage point over the neighborhood. He sent his shadow slithering into a nearby building, where he knew the leader was holed up, barking orders.
Through his shadow's vision, he saw the man—a hulking brute, pistol at his side, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Dio whispered a curse under his breath; getting close to this one wouldn't be easy.
He used the shadow to whisper into the ears of a distracted gang member outside the building, mimicking the voice of a desperate recruit. "Boss needs backup at the south corner! Slum rats spotted!"
The distracted thug nodded without looking at him and ran back inside to relay the message. Moments later, the leader stormed out, muttering curses about incompetence. Dio smirked. Perfect. He moved, sticking to the darkness, trailing the leader as he stormed down the alley toward the supposed commotion.
When the leader finally stopped in a quiet, open courtyard, Dio struck.
"Looking for someone?" Dio's voice cut through the silence as he stepped out from the shadows, pistol raised.
The leader turned, his expression twisting in surprise before settling into a cruel grin. "You've got guts, kid." He drew his gun in a blur, firing a shot with uncanny precision.
Dio felt the burn as the bullet curved in the air and slammed into his shoulder, spinning him to the side. But his focus didn't falter. His shadow wrapped around the leader's feet, distracting him for the split second Dio needed.
"What the fuck is this!?" The leader growled as he tried to kick Dio's shadow off his feet.
Two shots were fired—one to the leader's leg, the other to his shoulder. The man crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain.
Dio stepped closer, blood dripping from his own wound. He crouched, placing his hand on the leader's chest. Download.
He discovered that while he could download passive skills at a distance. Touching them makes it instantaneous. No need to wait for the download progress.
A strange warmth flooded Dio's veins as the leader's passive skill fused into him. For a moment, the world sharpened—the dull neon light glowed brighter, the distant shouts more distinct. His injured shoulder throbbed in pain which contorted Dio's expression.
His download ability instinctively told him that the passive skill increases his aim 100% and gives him the ability to curve the direction of bullets mid-air. Well, the limit is, for every bullet, he could only curve them once, not twice.
...
Dio limped back into the maze of the slums, avoiding the remaining gang members who now searched frantically for their leader. As he moved, he tested his new passive.
Aiming his pistol at a shattered bottle in the distance, he fired. The bullet arced in an impossible curve, shattering the target with surgical precision. He practiced again, this time ricocheting a shot off a steel pole to hit another distant object. Each shot was smoother than the last, his mind instinctively calculating trajectories.
The cries of innocent families being torn from their homes echoed in his ears. He couldn't help but clench his fist. Due to his crossfire with West Bull, a lot of slum people were implicated. They were collateral damage that Dio knew couldn't be avoided.
With his shadow as his scout, Dio moved methodically, avoiding detection while ensuring no one tracked his position.
...
The night deepened as Dio finally reached a hidden crawlspace beneath an abandoned factory. He patched his shoulder wound with scraps of fabric, his thoughts racing. The West Bulls had lost their leader, their ranks scattered, but they wouldn't give up easily.
One step at a time, Dio thought, his shadow curling protectively around him. He glanced at the blood-streaked pistol in his lap. 'Killing the last members of West Bull is easy work with my new passive. The next target would be the damned collector.'