Chapter 142: Mission Complete, Yoriichi Type Zero

The man's eyes held a flicker of malice as he spoke, "Of course, just walk straight that way, and you'll find what you're looking for in no time!"

His voice took on a darker, more menacing tone as he continued, "However, if I were you, I wouldn't proceed. It's quite rude, you see, to intrude upon someone's sanctuary uninvited."

Yoriichi Type Zero's response was as chilling as the night air, his voice devoid of emotion. "Is that so?" he said, tucking away the photograph. "Perhaps you should deliver that message to your kin?"

Slash!

The word barely left his lips before a white flash cleaved the silence, and with a single, fluid motion of his blade, Yoriichi Type Zero severed the thread of the man's life.

The body crumpled to the ground, and Yoriichi Type Zero's voice was as cold as the steel of his sword, "…leave no one alive."

He knelt beside the lifeless form, his hands searching with clinical precision until they found the car keys. His previous encounter with a driver had left him without transportation, necessitating this grim acquisition.

With the owner's body concealed from prying eyes, Yoriichi Type Zero commandeered the van and set off toward the residence of the infamous "Leatherface."

Jon's magic had been instrumental in Yoriichi Type Zero's ability to operate the vehicle. It was akin to programming a machine—imparting intelligence to inanimate objects and instilling them with various capabilities, such as driving, tactical response, and the art of killing.

The road to the white house was desolate, the van's headlights cutting through the darkness. Upon arrival, Yoriichi Type Zero parked and compared the structure before him to the photograph. Satisfied with the match, he stepped out of the van.

The moment the car door opened, the droning hum of a generator reached his ears. It was tethered to the white house, a lifeline to its mechanical heart.

Without hesitation, Yoriichi Type Zero drew his sword and split the generator in two. The house fell silent, and he advanced toward the entrance.

But as he approached, the door swung open unexpectedly, and a bearded young man emerged, his face contorted with frustration.

"What the hell is happening?" he growled, his voice laced with irritation. "The TV's dead, everything's dead! What kind of backwater hell is this?"

The bearded man's eyes widened in terror as he registered the figure before him, his voice trembling, "You... who are you...!"

But his question hung unanswered in the air as Yoriichi Type Zero's blade sang its deadly song, and with a swift, precise motion, the man named Alfred crumpled to the ground, silenced forever.

Alfred was but one of the twisted family members that inhabited this house of horrors. Jon's instructions had been clear, though lacking in specifics due to the ever-changing roster of relatives. Yoriichi Type Zero's directive was simple: eliminate every member he encountered. With each one that fell, he inched closer to fulfilling his grim objective.

With a forceful kick, Yoriichi Type Zero burst through the door, his entrance as silent as death itself.

"Alfred, can't you keep it down?" came a gruff voice from within the dimly lit interior.

Charlie, unkempt and leering, emerged from the shadows. His walls were a macabre gallery of his perversions, adorned with images of women whose fates had been cruelly sealed by his hand. But his depravity was to meet an abrupt end. Yoriichi Type Zero's blade, indifferent to sin or virtue, delivered Charlie's final judgment without hesitation.

"Hey, what happened?" Another voice echoed through the house, tinged with confusion and curiosity.

From the bedroom, a grotesque figure appeared. The man, known as Chop-Top, was a sight to behold with his bald, greasy head and the nauseating rat birthmark. The metal plate affixed to his skull was a grotesque trophy of his past, which he scraped incessantly with a spoon, creating a sound that would unsettle any ordinary being.

Yoriichi Type Zero, however, was no ordinary being. Unaffected by the cacophony, he advanced towards Chop-Top, his sword ready to claim another victim.

Chop-Top, the twin brother of the hitchhiker and a veteran of Vietnam, bore the scars of war both inside and out. The metal plate served as a grim reminder of the injury he had sustained, an injury that had now become part of his twisted identity.

"Alfred————" Chop-Top's call for his fallen family member was cut short as he finally noticed the intruder, his eyes locking onto the cold, unfeeling gaze of Yoriichi Type Zero.

Chop-Top's rage boiled over as he witnessed the fall of his kin. His hands, shaking with fury and disbelief, clutched the shotgun that lay within arm's reach. With a vengeful snarl, he aimed at the figure of Yoriichi Type Zero and bellowed, "Die, scum!"

The shotgun roared, a blast that would have felled any ordinary foe. But Yoriichi Type Zero was far from ordinary. With a flick of his blade, he cleaved the bullet in twain, leaving Chop-Top aghast.

"How is this possible?" Chop-Top gasped, his confidence in his marksmanship from his days in Vietnam shattered by the spectacle before him. He had never seen such reflexes, such precision.

Convinced it must have been a fluke, he fired again, only to have his shot thwarted once more by the swift steel of Yoriichi Type Zero's sword.

"Ah, damn it, you monster!" Chop-Top screamed, his voice laced with terror. He continued to unload his weapon in a desperate frenzy, but each bullet was rendered harmless by Yoriichi Type Zero's unerring defense. And then, there was silence; the shotgun clicked empty.

In a heartbeat, Yoriichi Type Zero closed the distance, and with a single, decisive slash, he brought Chop-Top's life to an end.

The silence that followed was broken by the sound of shattering porcelain. Yoriichi Type Zero's gaze shifted to a middle-aged woman, her hands trembling as a fruit plate crashed to the floor.

"Oh, my God!" she wailed, rushing to the fallen Alfred, her arms enveloping him in a futile embrace. "Alfred, my child, no... don't!"

This woman, the matriarch of the family, had nurtured a lineage of monstrosity. Her ordinary appearance belied the twisted upbringing she had provided her sons, making her complicity in their deeds undeniable.

Without a flicker of emotion, Yoriichi Type Zero's blade found its next mark, and the mother joined her sons in death.

The house was then filled with a guttural, haunting wail.

"Ah ah ah ah————"

The sound was both sorrowful and chilling, like the cry of a wounded beast.

Yoriichi Type Zero turned to face the source and found himself staring at a hulking figure swathed in bandages—Leatherface, Hewitt Thomas Tommy, brandishing his infamous chainsaw.

The chainsaw roared to life, its cacophony a stark contrast to Yoriichi Type Zero's silent resolve.

Leatherface lunged, chainsaw swinging wildly in a deadly arc. But Yoriichi Type Zero was a specter of death, his form blurring, vanishing from Leatherface's sight.

In the next moment, Yoriichi Type Zero reemerged behind the giant, and with a swift motion, Leatherface's chest was rent open, a spray of blood painting the walls.

Yet, driven by the sight of his mother's demise, Leatherface's twisted resilience surged. Ignoring the mortal wound, he revved his chainsaw and spun, attempting a final, desperate attack.

But Yoriichi Type Zero was relentless, his mission absolute. With a second, more fatal strike, he severed Leatherface's head from his shoulders, silencing the chainsaw's growl forever.

[Ding! Your legendary mission has been updated: Judge a thousand sinful souls across all worlds. Current progress: 78/1000.]

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