Wesley and the others had no idea what had just happened.
For a brief moment, everything in front of them had turned completely white, their vision swallowed by that blinding flash. Then came three sharp, thunder-like crackling sounds, so fast they almost overlapped, followed by a series of controlled gunshots that echoed through the hall.
By the time their sight slowly returned, the world felt unreal.
Everyone on the opposite side—every assassin who had chosen Sloan—was already lying motionless in pools of blood.
Only Sloan remained standing.
Locke casually lowered his arm and slid the pistol back into his waistband, as if he had just finished something trivial.
Carlos blinked hard, his eyes still aching as he tried to process what he was seeing. "What… what just happened?" he muttered, his voice filled with disbelief.
"The enemies have been eliminated, Mr. Carlos," Locke replied calmly, as though he were stating an obvious fact.
Carlos turned toward him sharply, shock written all over his face. "H-How did you do that?"
Around them, the rest of the assassins gradually regained their vision. As soon as they realized what had occurred, murmurs spread through the hall, low whispers filled with fear and confusion.
Only Fox remained composed.
She stood quietly, her expression unchanged, as if this outcome had never been in doubt.
Locke stepped forward, his gaze settling on Sloan, who stood frozen, staring blankly at the corpses behind him.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly," Locke said with a faint smile. "Locke. God's Knight of Punishment."
He tilted his head slightly, his tone almost polite. "It's a pleasure to eliminate you myself."
Before Sloan could react, Locke's hand shot out, grabbing him by the neck like livestock bound for slaughter. Sloan struggled instinctively, but it was useless—his strength meant nothing in Locke's grip.
Locke dragged him forward without effort, stopping in front of the automated loom.
The machine continued its relentless motion, the shuttle darting back and forth at incredible speed through tightly stretched threads. The sharp, mechanical rhythm filled the room, creating a chilling backdrop.
Everyone present understood what was about to happen.
But just minutes ago, Sloan had been their leader—the one who decided everything.
Now…
Locke glanced over his shoulder at the others, his tone light, almost teasing. "This might get messy," he said. "Kids, you might want to look away."
Without waiting for a response, he forced Sloan's head downward.
"Pffft!"
The shuttle pierced straight through his temple.
The white threads instantly turned crimson, the bright red staining the loom in a grotesque contrast. Sloan's body went limp almost immediately, the machine continuing its motion as if nothing had happened.
Silence followed.
Some of the assassins stared in shock, unable to process it. Others lowered their heads, their expressions complicated, even pained. No matter what Sloan had done, he had once been their comrade—the man they had fought beside.
Locke clapped his hands once, the sharp sound pulling everyone's attention back to him.
"Instead of mourning him," he said calmly, "you should be thinking about yourselves."
His gaze swept across the room, cold and steady.
"They're dead. But the Brotherhood doesn't have to die with them."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Go clean it up. Wash away everything that's been corrupted. Go out there, kill… and earn your redemption."
…
Later, seated in Sloan's former office, Locke reviewed his gains.
Sloan had undoubtedly counted as silver-tier prey. The Silver Gift Pack progress had advanced to 1/5, while the Iron and Bronze progress bars now stood at 3/37 and 17/31 respectively.
He opened the newly acquired Iron-tier gift pack.
Three attribute points.
He stored them without hesitation.
Then another notification appeared.
[Congratulations. Achievement unlocked: Spread the Creed.]
[Reward: Special Achievement Gift Pack.]
Locke frowned slightly as he read it.
Spread the creed?
The system's so-called creed was centered entirely around killing for redemption. If it spread too far, wouldn't that mean this world would gradually turn into something… extreme?
Join the creed—bring blood, heads, hearts, bones.
The thought made him click his tongue.
Cruel.
He opened the gift pack.
[Reward obtained: Master-Level Skill Upgrade Card.]
Locke considered his current skills.
Trap Mastery was the first to be ruled out. There was no need to push that further right now.
Basketball came to mind next, but that was almost laughable. He was already beyond human—if he stepped onto a court, there'd be no competition. No one would stand a chance, not even LeBron James.
Swimming and diving followed, but that seemed even more pointless. Competing with professionals like Michael Phelps didn't interest him in the slightest.
That left one option.
Firearms mastery.
More specifically, automatic weapons.
Submachine guns, assault rifles, even light and heavy machine guns—all fell under that category. The potential value there was undeniable.
Still, after a moment's thought, he chose not to use the card yet.
There was no urgent need. It was better to hold onto it until something more critical came up.
That night, the Brotherhood underwent a transformation unlike anything in its history.
Locke's words—kill to gain redemption—had only just begun to take root. But with Fox implementing it, it wouldn't take long before it became the new foundation of the organization.
Darkness fell, and Locke stayed the night.
…
The next morning, he woke up feeling refreshed.
Stretching lazily, he got out of the large bed, the events of the previous day already settling into memory. After washing up, he sat down with breakfast and a newspaper, scanning through it casually.
Then something caught his eye.
Tony Stark had finally departed for Afghanistan.
Locke's lips curled slightly.
The opportunity he had been waiting for had arrived.
From his earlier earnings—sixteen million—combined with the money gained from dealing with gangs and collecting various assets, his total capital had reached twenty million dollars.
Under David's careful management, the funds had been split across multiple accounts, heavily leveraged, and used to short Stark Industries stock.
The process had taken days to complete to avoid suspicion.
Now, all that remained was to wait.
Once Stark was reported missing, the stock would plummet.
Then, when he returned, it would surge again.
And that wasn't even the end of it.
Stark shutting down weapons development would cause another crash.
Revealing himself as Iron Man would send it soaring.
Then the shift toward clean energy…
Each move, each announcement—another opportunity.
If timed correctly, it would be enough to create a new billionaire.
Locke leaned back slightly, amused at the thought.
The king wouldn't need to work ever again.
…
That evening, he returned to the same location where he had last met Natasha.
Phil Coulson had arranged the meeting, clearly wanting answers about that abrupt phone call.
This time, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Coulson were all present.
Natasha looked exhausted, her usual composure slightly worn down.
Clint didn't look much better.
After Nick Fury learned that Dreykov was still alive, an internal investigation had been launched immediately. Their authority had been heavily restricted.
They were being treated like suspects.
And they were furious.
Locke had barely stepped into place when a deep, smooth voice sounded behind him.
"I'm curious," the voice said, calm but commanding. "Which name do you prefer… Iron Man's friend, or Devil Face?"
Locke turned.
A tall man in a black coat approached slowly, his presence imposing without effort.
Nick Fury.
The moment Locke saw him, something shifted.
According to his system's assessment, Fury wasn't just powerful—he was far beyond what he had expected. Not gold-tier.
Higher.
Much higher.
A dangerous thought flashed through Locke's mind.
If I kill him…
What would I get?
Something rare. Something extraordinary.
Maybe even a leap in power.
The idea took root instantly, growing faster than he could suppress it.
His eyes lit up.
On the other side, Fury noticed that reaction—and smiled slightly.
Yes. That was the effect he wanted.
Fear. Shock. Submission.
That was how this meeting was supposed to go.
But as he got closer…
Something felt off.
Locke's gaze wasn't fearful.
It was… excited.
Before Fury could react, Locke suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand firmly, as if he were holding onto something precious.
Fury's instincts flared instantly.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
And then he saw it.
In Locke's eyes—
For just a brief moment—
There was unmistakable killing intent.
Cold.
Sharp.
Real.
Fury's entire body went tense as a chill ran down his spine.
....
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