Chapter 169: Scenes Of A Dying World 3!

Chapter 169: Scenes Of A Dying World 3!

Carlos Núñez lay flat on the cold, unforgiving ground, hidden amidst the rubble of what was once a bustling street. His breathing was steady, controlled, as he surveyed the desolate scene before him through the scope of his rifle.

The Rhemon agents were scattered strategically, their oppressive presence turning the simple act of distributing food into a scene of terror. Eight in total. One was brutalizing the man who had dared to bring sustenance to the desperate crowd.

Two others stood nearby, their cruel laughter echoing in the stillness, while the remaining five kept a vigilant watch, their weapons ready to suppress any signs of rebellion.

Carlos adjusted his aim, the cross-hairs settling on the agent assaulting the helpless man. His mind sharpened with the clarity of a seasoned soldier, recalling countless missions where precision and stealth were the difference between life and death.

The absence of a level three agent-a more formidable foe with enhanced abilities- gave him confidence. The highest-ranked among them was a level four, skilled in combat but lacking supernatural prowess.

Silently, he exhaled. His finger squeezed the trigger. The rifle discharged with a whisper, its suppressed shot piercing the air unnoticed. A heartbeat later, the agent collapsed, blood spraying from the back of his head.

The once commanding figure crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. For a moment, there was silence. Then chaos erupted.

The remaining agents snapped to attention, their weapons sweeping the area as they barked orders, desperately trying to locate the unseen threat. The crowd, caught in the crossfire of fear and confusion, scattered in every direction, their cries blending into a cacophony of panic.

Carlos remained motionless, a phantom in the shadows. He shifted his aim to the next target.

Thwip.

Another agent dropped, his body hitting

the ground with a dull thud.

Thwip. Thwip.

The silent reaper continued his work, each shot finding its mark. The agents fell one by one, their numbers dwindling rapidly.

The crowd, initially frantic, began to notice the true targent of the unseen marks man, and tide turning. Slowly, their movements stilled as they watched in awe.

Hope, fragile but undeniable, flickered in their eyes as they huddled behind debris, witnessing the systematic dismantling of their oppressors. Within ten minutes, it was over.

The last Rhemon agent collapsed, his lifeless body joining the others in the dust. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of wind rustling through the ruins. Carlos remained in position, his eyes scanning for any signs of reinforcements.

When he was satisfied that the area was clear, he dismantled his rifle with practiced efficiency, tucking it away before melting back into the shadows, remaining hidden while still keeping a watchful eye.

The crowd began to emerge cautiously, their movements tentative as they approached the fallen agents. Whispers of gratitude and disbelief filled the air, their voices carrying a newfound strength.

Carlos watched from a distance, his face unreadable. He didn't need their thanks. His mission was far from over, and the world still teetered on the brink of collapse. But for now, in this dying world, a spark of hope had been

reignited.

————

After watching the scene unfold for a while, Carlos Nunez rose from his crouched position, his movements deliberate and calm. He slung the rifle bag over his shoulder and began walking towards the man who had brought the food.

His presence was magnetic; heads turned, and murmurs rippled through the crowd like an electric current. At first, people were puzzled, their brows furrowed as they tried to make sense of the man who had seemingly materialized out of thin air. His arrival was abrupt, almost spectral, as if he had stepped out of the shadows of a forgotten legend.

"Who's that?" someone muttered, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Why does he have a rifle bag?" another whispered, their voice tinged with unease.

But then, as the onlookers took a closer look at his chiseled face and the confident, measured strides of the newcomer, realization dawned on a few sharp minds in the crowd.

"Wait…isn't that—" one gasped, their voice cutting through the murmurs.

"Carlos Nunez," another said, eyes widening in awe. "The war hero."

The words spread quickly, igniting a spark of recognition among the rest.

"You mean the Carlos Nunez? The man who ended the War of '98 single-handedly?"

"Yes! And don't forget, in '01, he took down Scar, the most dangerous rebel leader of our time. He's a legend."

The whispers grew louder, more urgent. "He's the one who just saved us from the Rhemon agents. We owe him our lives."

It was as if a switch had been flipped. The crowd, initially tense and wary, now watched him with awe and reverence. The rifle bag slung casually in his right hand was no longer a symbol of fear but of protection, a reminder of the heroic deeds that had shaped their lives.

Carlos, however, seemed oblivious to the growing commotion around him. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his focus unshaken. He moved with purpose, his every step a quiet assertion of control and confidence. The crowd parted instinctively, granting him passage, their whispers a chorus of admiration.

"Can you believe it? Carlos Nunez, here in our streets."

"He's like a ghost—appearing only when needed."

"And disappearing just as quickly."

The murmurs continued, but Carlos paid them no heed. He had a mission, and nothing, not even the weight of his own legend, would distract him from it.

The whispers grew louder, and soon an unplanned applause broke out, swelling from every corner of the street. People clapped and cheered, their voices filled with admiration and gratitude. Carlos, however, walked on, his expression impassive, his focus elsewhere.

He approached the man who had been brutally assaulted, now struggling to stand. Without a word, Carlos bent down, lifted the man gently, and began gathering the spilled food containers and arranging them back on the wheeled platform.

"Thank you, sir…you saved my life," the man stammered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I owe you everything."

Carlos nodded, his voice calm and direct. "Can I have some food? I need it for myself and my daughter."

The request startled the man, who blinked in surprise. For a moment, he forgot the gravity of what had just happened. "Of course, sir! Please, take as much as you need," he said hurriedly, still reeling from the weight of Carlos's quiet heroism.

Carlos picked up a disposable food container and filled it, ensuring there was enough for two. Without another word or even a backward glance, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the distance like a shadow fading with the setting sun.

The crowd, momentarily silent, suddenly remembered why they had gathered. A frenzy broke out as they surged toward the food. In the chaos, the man who had brought the meal was nearly trampled and had to retreat to avoid being swallowed by the mob. Within minutes, the three large coolers were empty, their contents devoured by the ravenous crowd.

As the dust settled and people dispersed, whispers of Carlos Nunez's quiet but commanding presence lingered. The legend had walked among them, and they knew they had witnessed something extraordinary.

.