r18novel Chapter 169, Section 66: Testing Each Other's Skills
Chapter 169, Section 66: Testing Each Other's Skills
Chapter 169, Section 66: Testing Each Other's Skills (Part 2)
"Wei, I think you've roughly figured out your background by now. We share similar blood, and yet you're getting angry with me over a dog?"
Thomas seemed to be giving advice, but his tone was full of provocation.
His actions also revealed that he threw down his clothes to defend himself, with his forefoot touching the ground and his fists raised high.
This is a Muay Thai parry; the combative guy was already prepared for a fight.
"I agree with you, but if you haven't heard the saying, 'Don't mess with John Wick's dog,' then I'll teach you a similar lesson today." Qin Wei unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and slowly rolled up the cuffs, revealing his muscular forearms covered in bruises.
As soon as he adopted his British boxing starting stance, the entire room filled with the smell of gunpowder.
The two men, wary of each other, moved toward the open space in the center of the reception room.
Just as he was about to step onto the pattern in the center of the carpet, Thomas Jr. made the first move.
Qin Wei blocked a short, fast, expert-level jab by bending his arm.
Bang! The collision of muscles and bones reverberated and spread throughout the room, like the beating of war drums, pushing the fighting spirit of both sides to its peak.
Qin Wei retaliated, but Thomas dodged the low kick with a twist of his hip.
After a brief period of probing, both sides had a general understanding of each other's strength and speed.
"It's a remarkable miracle. Hugo Strange has modified your brain, which makes your learning and memory abilities far superior to ordinary people. However, muscle memory cannot be accumulated. Compared to the last time I saw you, your combat level has made a qualitative leap."
"Have you been battling evil every night for the past six months?"
Thomas licked his lips, his eyes, deep-set beneath his brow bone, sparkling with excitement.
"Yes, sometimes it's one-on-one, sometimes it's one-on-many, and the latter always leaves me battered and bruised." While answering the other party's question, Qin Wei delivered a series of punches.
Thomas threw a jab, a hook, and then a concealed uppercut, but he dodged them all with flashy footwork.
"Aren't you even a little bit curious?"
Thomas suddenly lunged forward, launching a combination of straight punches and elbow strikes that caught Qin Wei off guard. Once he gained the upper hand, he didn't stop talking.
"I told you I'd seen you before, but you don't seem to remember me. Guess where I saw you?"
Qin Wei remembered the wound on his abdomen when he first transmigrated, and answered while arching his back and bending his arms in defense.
"You weren't the one who stabbed me, were you?!"
"Hahaha, you guessed it! So why would I do that?"
"I'm not interested in any of this!!!"
Qin Wei suddenly erupted, his feet moving in a butterfly-like motion, seizing the opening in Thomas's attempt to tear apart his defense with a knee strike, and taking a large step to the left. As he circled to his side, he unleashed a fierce left hook aimed at his opponent's abdomen.
The whistling wind from the punch made Thomas frown. He was caught off guard and his powerful Muay Thai leg techniques were immediately sealed. In a short moment, he was put on the defensive.
The best option at this point is to ignore Qin Wei's attack and chop his neck with a hand chop. After all, the essence of Muay Thai is to use offense as defense and to keep moving forward. With their strong ability to withstand blows, fighters can often gain the upper hand in the exchange of blows with their opponents.
But right now, Thomas's opponent is Qin Wei, whose fast and heavy punches make Thomas hesitant to take them head-on.
So Isaiah Thomas chose to use his bent arm for protection for the first time.
This was exactly the result Qin Wei wanted. The left hook was a feint; his real intention was to approach and control his opponent.
Qin Wei suddenly stepped forward, his arms snapping together like hydraulic clamps, gripping Thomas's body tightly and pushing him against the wall.
Thomas's arms were trapped and he couldn't move. Because he was sideways, he couldn't use a knee strike to break the attack, so he could only watch helplessly as he was pushed against the wall.
boom!
With a loud crash, half of his body slammed into the wall. Ignoring the pain, Thomas immediately looked at the teetering oil painting on the wall.
"Woman with a Parasol," one of the exhibits stolen from the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. ten years ago, was a Monet original that he noticed the moment he entered the room, as a seasoned art collector.
With a headbutt, he knocked back Qin Wei, who was about to execute a clinch throw. Little Thomas leaped forward and caught the painting in his arms just as it fell.
Before he could even feel relieved, Qin Wei's fist tore through the canvas and landed squarely on his side below the ribs.
Thomas clutched his ribs and stumbled backward, his buttocks bumping into a vase stand in the corner.
The base of the vase spun on the table.
"Yuan blue and white porcelain!"
The man was terrified and reached out to help, but was met with another swift and vicious swinging punch.
The same striking spot, the powerful impact of the Liver Explosion punch penetrated the protection of muscles and bones, reaching directly into Thomas's internal organs.
With a crash, the vase fell and shattered, making a crisp sound.
As this strike proved effective, Thomas Jr. finally abandoned his "pretty face" persona and delivered a spinning backfist that struck Qin Wei in the jaw.
Both of them groaned and fell to the ground at the same time.
Thomas Jr. knelt on the ground, curled up in a ball, the excruciating pain from his bursting liver rendering him unable to utter a sound; Qin Wei, on the other hand, lost his balance due to a head injury and fell to the ground, rolling around while clutching his head.
It seemed to be a closely contested match, with both sides trying to intimidate each other, but unfortunately neither gained the upper hand.
The first to recover from the pain was Thomas Jr., who rolled up his sleeves, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and pushed open the door while clutching his abdomen.
"Get out of my way, all of you!"
Having lost the game and had his cherished artwork destroyed, the man was in a terrible mood and roared at the Romans who were piled up in layers at the door, ready to fight.
Qin Wei only removed his hand from his face after Thomas's footsteps disappeared at the end of the corridor.
His head was indeed spinning badly, but he wasn't so dizzy that he couldn't get up. When Thomas's whip punch came, he met the attack head-on.
Every move needs space. Don't underestimate this seemingly insignificant movement; it reduces the impact by at least 30%.
Qin Wei pretended to faint to see if Thomas was hostile to him. Of course, more importantly, he learned from the explosive liver punch that the other party was just a mortal.
The fact that you can feel pain indicates that the other party does not have amber gold in their body and is not a court claw.
This lends considerable credibility to Thomas's previous statement.
However, doubts remained. Although the other party was not Claw, he knew the court inside and out. Qin Wei felt it was necessary to investigate the information about this guy who called himself Little Thomas.
Meanwhile, Matchstick Marlon, who had been imprisoned in the underground jail of the Court of Owls for three days, finally met his first visitor.
A dazzling light shone from behind the heavy iron gate, revealing a tall figure standing against the light in the doorway.
The leather shoes landed on the blood-stained floor, echoing in the dimly lit dungeon.
The man walked up to Matchstick Ma Long with his hands in his pockets and a brisk pace.
"Hello, descendant of the Wayne family."
A slightly mocking gaze emanated from behind the owl mask. After a brief greeting, he looked down at the prisoners in the cage, who were weak from hunger.
"I admit you are indeed very capable. You not only took down Maroni and escaped death from Deathstroke, but you even killed two veteran Claws."
Matchstick Marlon lifted his heavy eyelids and mumbled something under his breath.
"I'm not."
"Don't rush to deny it. Although we haven't found their remains, I'm certain you did it."
"You, like Thomas, possess limitless potential, just like Joshua and the Solomon brothers who brought light to Gotham a century ago."
"That's also why the court is reluctant to take action against you."
The man knelt down, took out a delicate little gift box, opened it, and handed it to Matchstick Marlon.
Inside the box was a pill, a brainwashing drug that Thomas Jr. had once taken, capable of altering memories and effectively blocking emotions.
Light streamed in from outside, falling on the man's back. Opposite him was Matchstick Ma Long, hidden in the shadows and heavily blocked by iron bars. Fine dust danced wildly, the whole scene resembling a grand yet eerie marriage proposal.
"Join us and bring the Wayne family back into the arms of the court."
Matchstick Marlon really wanted to refuse, but he was afraid of the possible consequences of refusing.
He struggled to raise his hand and used all his strength to lean forward.
"He's not Bruce Wayne, sir. We offered it our blood, but there was no reaction!"
The anxious shouts from outside the door interrupted Ma Long's actions.
Immediately afterwards, his fingers were grabbed by a strong hand and bent backward.
"You despicable creature."
The man didn't raise his voice, but his anger was written in his clenched molars.
He viciously yanked Matchstick Marlon's hand out of the cell, and grabbed the other man's messy, greasy hair with his other hand.
"The human skull is the hardest bone in the body, and its structure allows it to withstand enormous pressure, ranging from about 500 to 1000 pounds."
The man pressed Malone's head toward the inside of the railing.
Amidst the creaking of bones and Matchstick Malone's painful screams, the man whispered as he gradually increased the force.
"Relax, I am a doctor, a plastic surgeon who brings beauty and rebirth to humanity. In other words, eliminating ugliness is also part of my job."
Matchstick Marlon regretted it. He wasn't nearly as brave as he thought. After the impulsiveness subsided, all that remained in his heart was fear. He struggled and left more than a dozen bloody scratches on the back of the man's hand, but the other man was still engrossed in talking to himself.
Death was approaching, and he suddenly remembered the night he set fire to Gotham and fled.
Desperate screams echoed in my ears, just like today.
"So a long death really can drive someone to a mental breakdown —"
click!
boom!
Under immense external pressure, Matchstick Marlon's head finally succumbed and exploded. The high intracranial pressure smeared his brain matter and blood all over the cell, including the man's white suit.
The man picked up the blood-soaked bat hood from the ground.
"Bruce Wayne, the court's traitor, where can I find you—"
He murmured to himself, then suddenly seemed to remember something and tightened his hood.
"I understand. If you're obsessed with playing the role of a night-time hero, obsessed with the so-called illusion of justice you've created, then I'll shatter that illusion and personally tell you the so-called truth."
The man took out his phone and took several photos of Ma Long's body.
Breastplate, leg armor, a cloak behind him, and finally, a blood-stained bat mask.
After he finished everything, he made a phone call.
"Mr. Lucius Fox, the court needs your assistance, just as you designed the armor for Mr. Thomas before. Design and build me a suit of armor based on these pictures."
The iron gates of Blackgate Prison slowly closed with the sound of motors. Chato Santana, with his back to them, looked blankly at the outskirts of Gotham City outside the prison, carrying his suitcase.
The traces of the blizzard's devastation are still visible everywhere: broken tree branches and a few withered grasses stubbornly sticking out of the snowdrifts.
The cold wind cut across my face, a sharp and clear pain.
He never expected that he would actually be released. When he first took on this mission, he only wanted to fight for freedom, but what would happen after he gained his freedom?
He had never thought about that.
George, standing beside him, didn't have so many worries. The man carrying the giant boomerang lit a cigarette with a relaxed air, seemingly unaffected by the cold wind.
"Hey buddy, I'm going to find a couple of girls to vent my frustrations, wanna come along?"
The enthusiastic invitation was met with a disdainful look from Chato; the two had barely exchanged a few words before teaming up. Besides, Chato was previously the leader of a New York youth gang; what kind of woman hadn't he been with?
But ever since he was shot and knocked unconscious, and then possessed by something strange in the hospital, Chato's life has changed dramatically.
The vengeful demon Diablo granted him extraordinary power, turning former rivals into ants crawling at his feet. The exhilarating feeling of ascension swelled Chato's ego to its limit.
Revenge, expand territory, and kill all potential rivals.
The Youth Gang expanded rapidly and soon became the largest gang in New York.
However, he made many enemies in a short period of time, and a group of assassins hired by several of his enemies came knocking on his door.
Chotto was seriously injured and lost control of Diablo while unconscious.
The out-of-control vengeful demon turned the land within a one-kilometer radius into scorched earth.
Three hundred and sixty-five people died on the spot, including the killer group and Chato's family.
But the immense disaster drew his attention.
As the red cloak billowed and rustled above the heat and ash, Chato sat frozen, giving up all resistance.
Everyone says that the letter S on his chest represents hope, but he only saw despair.
Chato didn't intend to resist; he knew there was a world of difference in strength between them. Even though he had disappeared from everyone's sight for nearly thirty years after the Zod invasion ended.
The word "Superman" itself represents absolute power.
Chato was imprisoned and subsequently transferred to Gotham City's Blackgate Penitentiary along with a group of high-risk inmates.
A city abandoned by the United States and a group of extreme villains complement each other perfectly.
Instead of taking the prison bus that only runs every three hours with George, Chato slung his backpack over his shoulder and wandered the wilderness like a ghost.
He walked across the Three Gates Bridge, crossed the frozen Gotham River, thinking of taking a boat from the ferry on the other side to leave Gotham.
But where could he go? He had no family left in New York.
He is a wandering soul, independent of the world.
Just as I crossed the bridge, a piercing screech of brakes sounded behind me.
A young man emerged from the driver's seat, removing his sunglasses to reveal a prominent scar on his brow bone.
"Would you be interested in discussing this?"
"I have no interest. Please don't come any closer!" The man's approaching steps threatened Chato, and a flame ignited in his palm.
In the past, he would have ruthlessly set the other person on fire.
I'm not talking to you.
Qin Wei frowned and pressed down on the tactical belt hidden under his coat.
"I've come to find the vengeful demon."
"Diavolo, I know you can hear me!"