A Knife Flying Out

Sloan was dark-skinned, but his blood was no different in color.

The bullet holes didn't bleed, however, but spurted out black smoke.

Sloan didn't seem affected at all as he moved. Instead, he lunged forward even more quickly.

Physical damage had no effect?

Thinking that, Luke dropped his guns and pulled out two knives.

The two of them were now very close to each other, and Sloan had used up the bullets in his pistol.

He threw away his Mauser pistol and roared, "You actually made me use my trump card. Go to hell!"

Puchi! Puchi!

They flashed past each other, and the sound of flesh being cut rang out.

Sloan turned around abruptly, shock and anger on his face. "That's impossible. How can you be so strong?!"

As soon as he said that, black smoke spurted from the dozen wounds on his upper torso and covered most of his body.