Book 7: Chapter 23: The Turning Point
The young man with the drooping eyes, whom Franklin called Feitan, looked at the two blood-soaked figures staggering in the center of the arena and shook his head faintly. “It seems there are still survivors?”
“You… who are you people?” A sturdy mafia boss gritted his teeth against the pain, struggling to prop up his upper body. His hateful gaze fell on Franklin and Feitan.
“It doesn’t matter… whoever they are, they’re… they’re dead!” A blood-drenched man swayed as he stood up behind the mafia boss, his wounds still gushing blood like a fountain. He staggered forward, raised his arm with great effort, and pointed at the three Troupe members.
“The mafia all over the world won’t let you get away… nor your families…”
Before the bloodied man could finish, he collapsed face down and moved no more. However, the mafia boss who was holding up his upper body continued where the other left off. “They will all… all be humiliated to death, cut into pieces… so you can taste hellish pain…”
Feitan raised a hand expressionlessly, fingers together. The edge of his palm gleamed with a metallic reflection. His figure flickered and vanished from the spot. When he reappeared, he was already standing behind the mafia boss.
“Tch!” The mafia boss’s words cut off abruptly. A jet of blood shot from his thick neck, opening along a thin red line like a baby’s mouth. His head fell from his shoulders, the wound as smooth as a mirror, as if sliced by a sharp blade.
“Family? What’s that?” Feitan flicked his hand, shaking off the blood droplets from his hand-chop. He turned his head and revealed a sinister, eerie smile.
“Hey, watch out!” Just as Feitan relaxed his guard again, Franklin’s deep warning came from behind.