going shopping after a full-on slaughter(chapter 68)

previously in chapter 67

The pistols fired, and the guards crumpled to the floor, silent as shadows. Not a single sound echoed in the hallway, the shots masked by the unique properties of the Silent Shadow Pistols. Henry stepped over their bodies, pushing open the door and entering the room beyond.

Inside, the atmosphere was even more decadent. Triads sat around gambling tables, engaged in their vices with reckless abandon. Smoke wafted through the air, mixing with the scent of expensive liquor and the pungent aroma of drugs. Laughter and shouts filled the room, a cacophony of indulgence and vice.

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Chapter 68

Henry didn't waste a moment. He raised his pistols and began firing. Each shot was a death sentence, the bullets finding their marks with deadly precision. The Silent Shadow Pistols did their work without a sound, the only noise the thuds of bodies hitting the floor and the panicked gasps of those who realized too late what was happening.

Chaos erupted. The remaining Triads scrambled for cover, drawing their own firearms in a desperate bid to fight back. Henry moved with cold efficiency, his movements almost choreographed as he ducked and weaved, avoiding return fire with ease. He fired back, each shot lethal, the room rapidly filling with the scent of blood and gunpowder.

A few Triads managed to return fire, their bullets whizzing past Henry or embedding themselves in the walls and furniture. One particularly bold Triad lunged at Henry with a knife, but Henry sidestepped smoothly, disarming and dispatching him with a swift shot to the head.

The firefight was brief but intense. Henry's pistols clicked empty, and he smoothly holstered them, drawing a pair of knives instead. He moved through the room like a specter, slashing and stabbing with ruthless efficiency. The Triads' numbers dwindled rapidly, their resistance futile against Henry's superior skill and weaponry.

One of the last Triads, cornered and out of options, raised his hands in a futile gesture of surrender. Henry didn't hesitate, a knife flying from his hand to bury itself in the man's throat. The Triad gurgled, collapsing to the floor in a heap.

The room fell silent, the once lively den of vice now a slaughterhouse. Henry stood amidst the carnage, not a single bead of sweat on his brow, not a single breath out of place. He looked around, his mind already moving to the next step.

"I should have used a different method to attack Gao," he thought, realizing his mistake. "But I was eager to try out my new weapon." He sighed, but his resolve didn't waver. 

He turned and exited the room, leaving the bodies behind. The silent massacre had served its purpose. The Triads would be sent a clear message that there was someone after them, and Gao and Fisk would be left guessing about the true identity of their attacker. As Henry melted back into the night, he was already planning his next move, his mind a whirlwind of strategies and contingencies.

-scene change-

In the dead of night, the dimly lit warehouse buzzed with activity. It was one of Henry's many operations, a hub of illicit trade and underground dealings. His men moved about, oblivious to the impending threat, their routines entrenched in the business that sustained them. They trusted Henry implicitly, never suspecting that their leader could be their downfall.

Henry stood in the shadows outside, his Equalizer cloth blending seamlessly with the darkness. He watched the scene with a cold detachment, his mind calculating every move. "Well, it would be stupid if I was the only one who wasn't attacked," he mused, a twisted smile playing on his lips. He knew that for his plan to work, he had to create the illusion of being under the same threat as everyone else. Tonight, his own men would pay the price for that deception.

Drawing his Silent Shadow Pistols, Henry took a deep breath. He slipped through the open door, the night swallowing him whole. Inside, the warehouse was a maze of crates and equipment, the air thick with the smell of oil and sweat. His men, scattered throughout the space, were engrossed in their tasks, their guard down.

Henry moved silently, his steps light and purposeful. He approached the first group of men, their backs turned to him. Without hesitation, he raised his pistols and fired. The shots were silent, the men dropping to the ground without a sound. Blood pooled beneath them, their lives extinguished in an instant.

A few men nearby noticed the sudden collapse of their comrades and turned in alarm. They barely had time to react before Henry was upon them. He moved with lethal efficiency, each shot precise, each kill swift. Panic spread through the warehouse as his men realized the carnage unfolding around them.

"What the hell is happening?" one of his lieutenants shouted, drawing his gun. He never got the chance to use it. Henry's knife flashed in the dim light, slicing through the man's throat, yes he was using a knife, he was getting tired of a gun. The lieutenant gurgled, clutching at his neck as he fell to his knees, blood spurting between his fingers.

Henry didn't stop. He moved through the warehouse like a ghost, dispatching his men with ruthless precision. A group of them tried to mount a defense, barricading themselves behind a stack of crates. Henry smirked, reloading his pistols. He fired, the bullets punching through the wood, hitting their marks with unerring accuracy. The men behind the crates slumped to the ground, their bodies riddled with holes.

Another group tried to flee, their footsteps echoing in the vast space. Henry gave chase, his movements fluid and relentless. He caught up to them easily, his pistols spitting silent death. One by one, they fell, their bodies crumpling in heaps on the cold concrete floor.

In the midst of the slaughter, Henry found a moment of clarity. He paused, his breath steady, his mind focused. This was necessary. This was part of the plan. The chaos and death would serve as a perfect cover, making his enemies believe that he, too, was a target and he achieved that for now as he looked at his dead subordinate with cold eyes, detached from any emotional attachment.

-scene change-

Back in his hideout, after he was done killing his own men, he went out shopping. After all, going shopping after a full-on slaughter was a good way to relieve excess energy. What he bought wasn't anything ordinary. His hideout was now filled with every white woman's dream items, ranging from crystals, tarot cards, fortune-telling balls—everything to do with fortune telling. The reason was simple: he wanted to create a fortune-telling item.

Why? Because he wanted to see if he could use that to give him an edge when it comes to the information angle, his weakness. These items were going to help. How were they going to help? It was quite simple; he was going to turn all of them into essence and then use that on a fortune-telling function. But before that, he had to prepare the item itself, which he chose to be a helmet. As for the metal, Henry chose copper due to its folklore connection to fortune-telling. But he wasn't going to use any normal copper; he was going to enhance the copper using another item.

[ Name: Alchemical Forger's Hammer ] 

[ Grade: 5th ] 

[ Description: The Alchemical Forger's Hammer is an alloy of steel and tungsten, forged through alchemical processes to possess exceptional strength and durability. It gleams with a metallic luster and feels surprisingly light despite its weight. ] 

[ Effects: This hammer was given the function to enhance any metal forged and shaped with it to its perfect form, using the Essence of Perfection as supplementary material. ] 

[ Deterioration-Rate: 0% ] 

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A/N: So yeah, meta-knowledge, or at least the dollar store version of it. I can understand why most MCs in fanfics have meta-knowledge; it makes plot progression a lot easier. Anyway, quick question, but don't ask me any questions.

A: Have Henry kill every hero and villain in the world and take over the world

or

B: Have him enslave everyone.