Chapter: 5. The Abilities of the New Era
Two truck headlights cut through the darkness, barely illuminating the winding road ahead.
Dust was kicked up by the wheels, rolling and dispersing in the beam of light, as if even the air was restless and anxious.
The owner of this truck had just hijacked a load of “angels” and was speeding through the night like a ghost. They had pressed the accelerator to the floor, not just out of fear of the thunderbirds that might appear behind them, but because there was almost no time left to meet the required “delivery” deadline.
Inside the cabin, the air was thick with the mingled scent of sweat and rust, mixed with the nauseating smell of diesel.
More than a dozen children, recently abducted from their hideout, were squeezed against one side of the narrow cabin. Some were curled up, softly sobbing; others were bloodied and unconscious in the corner, motionless.
Most of these children were just over ten years old, their faces still showing youthful innocence, yet they appeared wet and disheveled, like cats pulled out of water.
Opposite them sat three tall men, with dark skin and indifferent expressions.
In contrast, the frail children seemed like prey for their amusement.
But in reality, no one would think that way; the assault rifles in their hands were always raised, the dark muzzles resembling the eyes of death, fixated on each child’s heartbeat.
These children with glowing eyes were “angels,” considered nothing less than “monsters” to them.
Therefore, they did not dare let their guard down.
If they discovered even one child showing signs of glowing eyes, they would not hesitate to pull the trigger—this should be the case, but unfortunately, one of the men’s attention was drawn to a pair of long, tanned legs.
In this desert region, while there were many women with tanned skin, a tall and curvaceous beauty like this one was rare.
As the man watched the beautiful girl, unable to suppress a swallow, in the corner of the truck, the boy who was supposed to be guarded by this man quietly raised his head.
His hair had long been matted with blood and sweat, and the faint glow of magical power shone from his drooping eyes—his fingers gently pressed against the metal floor of the cabin, a trace of barely perceptible heat pooling at his fingertips, as if the air had trembled lightly.
He could manipulate the vibrations of metal. Just three more seconds—just a little more magical power gathered, and he could make the floor explode, using the moment of chaos to allow the others to escape.
He did not turn around or speak to anyone; he knew that would only bring them trouble.
He took a deep breath.
Two seconds.
One second.
But just at that moment of impending success.
A dull gunshot shattered the silence of the night.
Severe pain instantly tore through his arm, blood spraying onto the floor. He let out a cry, falling to the ground, and the activation of his power was abruptly interrupted.
Chaos erupted in the cabin; the children looked back in terror, and the armed men quickly raised their guns in that direction.
“Don’t panic, it’s one of us.”
Accompanied by a drawn-out whistle, a tall dark figure floated down from above, stepping calmly into the cabin.
His attire was different from the armed men—cloaked in a long, jet-black trench coat, wearing tight combat gear that melded into the night, twirling a silver-gray handgun that was still steaming.
His glowing eyes scanned over the children, finally landing on the boy who clutched his arm and lay on the ground.
“Thinking you can be a hero at such a young age?” He smiled, his tone flippant.
As soon as his words fell, one of the armed men stepped forward nervously, raising his gun and asking cautiously, “Who are you? Who told you—”
Before he could finish, the man staggered slightly.
In the next second, blood gushed out.
The armed man now bore a long, straight wound in his throat, his eyes still filled with confusion as his body collapsed to the ground.
“I’m here because you all were too slow; the boss just couldn’t wait any longer.”
The man nonchalantly wiped the silver dagger in his hand, turned, and scanned the crowd, revealing a bloodthirsty yet elegant smile.
The motion of his cloak unveiled a bloody cross badge underneath, making the other men instantly realize his identity; he was the “angel” hired by the employer from behind the scenes, codename: Silver Wolf.
The men discreetly lowered their weapons.
“Don’t worry, the boss just wanted me to take one item first; the payment for this batch will not decrease by a penny.” Silver Wolf smiled, signaling to the two men behind him before stepping forward toward the children.
His gaze swept coldly over everyone: “I’m looking for someone named—Erika.”
Silver Wolf paused, as if letting the name resonate in the air.
“Among you, there is a girl named ‘Erika’; where is she?”
No one responded.
The cabin echoed with the sound of wind blowing through the door, rustling the canvas, along with the children’s breaths, held to the brink of suppression.
Silver Wolf’s cold and bloodthirsty gaze roamed over the children’s faces.
“No one wants to speak? Fine.”
He turned his head, looking at the boy he had previously injured. The boy remained curled on the ground, blood pouring from his arm, teeth clenched tightly, yet he never cried out in pain.
“Then let’s start with you.”
He raised the gun in his hand, not giving anyone a chance to react.
“Bang.”
The bullet pierced the boy’s other arm, blood splattering everywhere; the excruciating pain caused him to scream.
Silver Wolf, however, remained unfazed, a smirk creasing his lips:
“I’ll give you one more chance; the one called ‘Erika’ should step forward voluntarily, or the next shot will be aimed at his—knee, then shoulder, stomach, lung—believe me, he won’t last until the end.”
At that moment, it seemed as if a gentle voice broke through the cries of despair:
“Stop, it’s me.”
The voice was not loud, yet it pierced through the chaos and fear like a needle.
A girl stood up from the crowd.
She looked about seventeen or eighteen, tall and voluptuous, her tanned skin shimmering softly like fine gold under the dim light of the truck, her golden eyes filled with gentleness and determination.
She took a step forward.
“I am Erika; let them go.”
Upon hearing this, Silver Wolf raised an eyebrow and then aimed the gun at the girl’s forehead, chuckling softly:
“Then please prove it?”
As his words fell.
The girl, claiming to be Erika, had a wave of gentle golden light flash across her eyes, a sign of her powers activating.
In the next second, Silver Wolf’s phone in his pocket vibrated.
He maintained his aim at Erika while pulling out the phone. When the screen lit up, the remittance message from the bank account made his mouth involuntarily curve upward—
“One million dollars as a meeting gift? How generous, Miss Erika.”
Silver Wolf put his phone away and lowered his gun.
“It seems you really are the Miss Erika; I didn’t expect an ability to ‘control’ networks and data to actually exist—”
Before Erika could react, Silver Wolf swiftly knocked her out with the butt of his gun and slung her tall and voluptuous body around his waist.
“I only need this one; the rest will be handled by you.”
Just before Silver Wolf turned to leave the cabin, he seemed to remember something amusing, pausing for a moment and smiling at the two men in the cabin: “By the way, I’ve found the target child, and the restriction regarding ‘capturing alive’ is no longer in effect.”
Silver Wolf jumped out of the cabin, blending into the night.
But his voice still echoed inside the cabin—
“Whether alive or dead, they are valued the same.”
The two men in the cabin exchanged glances, and in just a moment, they slowly raised their guns.
A finger rested on the trigger, and the dark muzzles slowly swept over the frail, huddled figures.
At that instant—
Boom.
A low rumble seemed to roll from far away, reverberating from deep within the earth.
The men instinctively halted their actions as a “splash” sound reached their ears—initially mere drops of water falling, as if someone had spilled a pot of water onto the canvas roof.
The originally boundless night sky was suddenly obscured by a thick layer of dark clouds, cutting off the starlight entirely; darkness seemed to descend from the heavens, crushing the silence of the barren desert.
A torrential downpour began.
Big raindrops instantly pounded on the truck roof, creating a dense, piercing noise, as if millions of bullets struck metal sheets.
Both men and children in the cabin were stunned.
They knew that this was a region known for its years of drought and absence of rain.
This sudden and unexpected downpour brought a look of confusion to everyone’s faces.
However, soon the confusion on the men’s faces shifted rapidly to terror.
A bolt of lightning roared down from the clouds, its blinding white light tearing through the night, illuminating the world outside the truck.
What they saw—
On both sides of the road, amidst the dunes, stood a group of shadows as black as ink, silently awaiting.
These figures made no sound and no movement, yet they appeared eerily in the torrent, like ghosts born of the night, their crimson eyes fixed intently on the direction of the truck.
Nightmare creatures born from the fantasy—a progeny of the storm.
