Chapter 8: The Tamed Lamb

No matter how much humanity evolves, it cannot alter the beastly instincts ingrained in our bloodline. These instincts, rooted deep within from ancient lineages, are inherent murderous impulses.

When Raven was just a child, he discerned these fearsome natures hidden beneath the innocent exteriors of other children.

They might squirt water into an anthill, watching thousands of insignificant lives drown in the viscous mud.

Or they might use a magnifying glass to focus sunlight, burning the wings of butterflies with the intensified heat.

In the natural world, no creature takes pleasure in dismembering its prey. Even predators as fierce as lions and cheetahs dismember their quarry purely to better grind and swallow their food.

Only human offspring have such inclinations. Like the most twisted serial killers, these adorable young minds explore sophisticated methods of killing their prey, seeking whatever brings them the most joy. However, the children's targets aren't fellow humans, but rather insignificant, inferior species.

Children are not afraid of cockroaches or mice. Only adults... only adults fear such trivial things.

They are natural-born killers. Civilization and intellect refine their methods, giving them a sense of... the artistry of death.

Yet, this wildness is eventually suppressed as they grow older. Children become domesticated by education, turning into docile lambs.

Raven couldn't fathom why these thoughts were surfacing in his mind, as if a mysterious voice within his marrow was guiding him, eliciting his bizarre musings.

"Captain, it seems he's dead. Was he just an ordinary man?" A riot soldier, looking at the fallen Raven, inquired to their leader.

Sweat beaded on the leader's forehead. He stared at the body sprawled on the floor, its brain perforated by a bullet, blood pooling around. It was clear Raven was no longer alive.

Blueira covered her mouth, stifling a scream. When Raven had been previously sprayed by an Uzi, the bullets only hit his body. Had one struck his head, he might not have survived. If this fearsome man were to die, she feared for her own life too.

The sin within Raven's mind beckoned him, arousing his murderous desires.

Have you ever felt this way? Consumed by rage, without knowing why? Perhaps because your worth wasn't recognized, or due to the mindlessness of certain scum, or maybe prejudices stemming from looks and lineage. Regardless, you felt intense anger.

Suddenly, you get this idea that you want that one person to appear in front of you right away, and then you want this person, to provoke you with the most vicious words, to provoke you in the most insulting way.

Then you would have enough reasons to torment him, to take revenge on him, to pull out his teeth with pliers, to smash his head with a hammer, and then to tear his whole body to pieces, and only in this way would you be able to bring back inner peace.

Yet, nearly one hundred percent wouldn't act on such impulses. Humans have been tamed by education, turned into buffaloes. The more sophisticated one perceives oneself, the more they refrain from deadly confrontations, having nearly all their primal instincts eradicated.

Although humans are carnivores, the flesh not obtained through direct combat is cheap.

Humans more closely resemble herbivores with an innate instinct to toil. Like a buffalo, they've forgotten how to hunt, instead engaging in business or tapping away at computer keyboards.

Raven's fingers twitched, a glint of amusement crossing his mind. Thankfully, the bullet had struck his head and not his body; otherwise, his new clothes would've been ruined.

Raven stood up, digging his index finger into the bullet hole on his forehead, extracting the lodged bullet and carelessly tossing it aside. His icy gaze then settled on the thirty or so riot soldiers before him.

Given Raven's formidable demeanor, Blueira could predict his next move. Although she didn't condone such actions, deep down, she hoped Raven would prevail.

"Mutant! It's a mutant! Fire!" At the captain's command, thirty assault rifles formed a dense web of bullets, leaving no room to evade.

Blueira was taken aback, perplexed at how things had spiraled to this. Wasn't it just a naked stroll through the streets, followed by some clothes theft? At most, this should've called for police, not heavily armed soldiers.

Quickly, Blueira dropped to the ground, crawling under a clothes rack for cover, leaving the situation for Raven to handle.

However, the reality was that Raven lacked combat experience. He'd barely ever been in fights, implying he was no warrior, merely an inexperienced greenhorn.

The sound of gunfire echoed...

Raven was like a living target, subjected to a full barrage from thirty well-trained riot soldiers. Holes burst open on his head, limbs, and torso, each spewing crimson fluid that sprayed all around. The time difference between the formation of one wound and the next was less than 0.07 seconds.

In mere moments, Raven was riddled with holes, with flesh and blood flying everywhere. Parts of him were scattered throughout the clothing store, turning it into a bloody hell.

The sheer force of the bullets made Raven stagger back step by step until he was pinned against the wall, every part of his body brutally shredded.

After a round of gunfire, the riot squad captain ordered a cease-fire. He continued to observe Raven, who showed no signs of life on the wall. It was well-known that Mutants had remarkable vitality. Even though Raven's body was now badly mutilated, with one arm completely shot off and discarded like trash on the floor, the captain remained vigilant.

All of Raven's internal organs were damaged, his bones crushed to pieces. He spat out copious amounts of blood from his mouth, and where his arm was missing, blood poured out as if from a tap.

Bland...

Boring...

The allure of battle was far from what Raven had anticipated.

"Boring, half-witted, dull creatures. I came here not to play pretend with you."

Raven picked up the severed arm from the ground and, as if driving a nail, thrust it directly into the gaping hole in his shoulder, looking disdainfully at the group of riot police.

The fluid coursing through his brainstem empowered Raven, yet he remained oblivious to its true utility. He bore no love for commotion or disputes, nor was he a bloodthirsty demon. All he desired was to listen to that sublime voice, nothing more.

If the extraordinary voice bestowed upon him this power, then it surely bore an extraordinary significance. The strength was exceptional, but Raven was in the dark, unaware of how to wield this force without profaning that voice.

To be honest, upon hearing the grand claims of the red demon and Blueira's plea, a spark of enthusiasm did ignite within Raven. He yearned for an exhilarating brawl, a visceral combat where they could tear at each other with their nails, gnaw at each other's innards with their sharp teeth. Perhaps this would be the true manifestation of this strength.

To Raven, these riot police were nothing but buffaloes. They had no concept of what a real fight was, not daring to risk their lives and simply shooting mindlessly from afar. Their cowardice was beyond redemption, a disgrace to his own strength and the voice in his brainstem.

And now, Raven intended to teach them how to truly fight.

"It's a Class B! A Class B or higher Mutant! Our firepower is useless against him!"

A timid riot officer shouted, instantly unsettling everyone around him.

The Mutant Response Bureau categorized Mutants into D, C, B, and A levels. Above level A were the executive ranks of the Mutant organizations. Yet, even a mere Class B Mutant couldn't be eliminated with ordinary firepower. Hence, it was asserted that only those who dubbed themselves the Time-Space Strategy Bureau could salvage the Arcas Continent.

Raven paid no mind to the terror of these riot officers. Instead, their frailty only intensified his contempt.

"Fi...Fire!"

The leader of the riot squad still issued such a command, but several officers had already fled.

Still, the remaining officers unleashed a torrent of firepower.

Raven remained undeterred amidst the hail of bullets, allowing them to pierce his body as he launched forward like a cheetah chasing down an antelope - swift and ferocious.

Once Raven got close, it was all over. His approach was the most savage and brutal of all.

Tearing with claws...

Striking with elbows...

Piercing enemies' eyes with his thumbs...

The immense strength allowed Raven's arm to penetrate straight into the chest of a riot officer. He ruthlessly yanked out a heart still connected by arteries and mercilessly crushed it.

Then came the blood slash. Utilizing the bullet holes on his body, Raven released a high-pressure stream of blood mixed with fragments of bone, slicing his enemies cleanly in half.

The battle concluded rapidly, not giving Raven the satisfaction he sought.

As Blueira crawled out from beneath a display rack, she quickly covered her mouth, on the verge of vomiting. However, when the pungent smell of thick blood reached her nostrils, she couldn't hold back. Leaning on a clothing rack, she retched, bringing up clear fluid and stomach acid.

"I can only hope the other Mutants and participants are a bit more challenging," Raven, drenched in blood, muttered to himself.

The mall was in utter chaos. All bystanders and shopkeepers had long since fled, many not even having the time to lock their storefronts. Raven located a store selling kitchen and bath fixtures, proceeding to rinse his body and clothes under a showerhead.

"What kind of monster are you?"

Blueira was on the verge of losing her mind.