CHAPTER 895: CHAPTER 895: THE DOWNPOUR BURIES EVERYTHING

The roar of gunfire was like thunder, and the tracer rounds darting through the streets felt like torrential rain sweeping across.

Just like during any usual gang fight, Morse stood at the forefront, leading a group of his henchmen.

But unlike the usual, he was holding a "Ripper" light machine gun with ammo belts attached!

The fierce muzzle spewed aggressive firepower, and the thick tongues of flame blinded the Iron Hand Gang’s thugs.

First rewarding the room at the top of the casino building with a burst of fire, Morse watched Tony scurry away from the window, then aimed the barrel at the casino’s main entrance, and maniacally pulled the trigger, laughing crazily.

"Die! Hahaha! You scum of the Iron Hand Gang!"

The whistling rain of bullets instantly shredded the tightly shut doors, preventing the henchmen hiding on either side of the main entrance from even daring to peek out and shoot back; they could only retreat in panic and search for sturdier cover.

A thug holding a pu-9 submachine gun couldn’t dodge in time and was struck on the shoulder by a machine gun bullet, ripping off the entire arm, leaving only blood-soaked half of the humerus.

"Aaaaahhhh!!!"

The pig-like scream echoed at the casino entrance and was soon drowned out by the roaring gunfire.

It wasn’t just Morse who was taking action; over a hundred members of the Hyena Gang, all armed with assault rifles, were also firing at the casino run by Tony.

The nearby civilians and gamblers, who had never seen such a scene, were terrified by the sudden situation and fled desperately from the street near the "Final Game."

In less than five minutes, the entire street was empty, leaving only gang members in the shootout.

Facing the Hyena Gang’s automatic fire, the Iron Hand Gang members couldn’t even raise their heads.

Although the pu-9 submachine guns they held were adept for alley fights, the 9mm submachine gun bullets were far inferior in power and penetration compared to the 7mm rifle rounds and machine gun bullets.

Moreover, the Guards had invested heavily in the "Wasp Plan"...at least previously.

With the current firepower level of the Hyena Gang, even if they were brought to the front line of Poluo Province, it wouldn’t be a disgrace, let alone dealing with street gang members.

The concentrated fire collapsed half a wall, and the gunfire on the street temporarily paused.

The Iron Hand Gang’s outer defenses were shattered, and the remainder retreated into the casino building.

Looking at a dozen corpses lying behind the concrete rubble, Morse grimly smiled and waved forward.

York, holding a "Blade" assault rifle and biting a lit cigarette end, relying on his reckless bravery, led over ten henchmen to charge through the casino doors first.

The sound of gunfire erupted again, and everyone quickly occupied nearby cover for shelter, then stuck their rifles out to shoot towards the approximate location where the gunfire was coming from.

Seeing that his henchmen had control of the entrance, Morse calmly replaced the smoky barrel of his light machine gun with a new ammo belt, then chambered the round with a snap.

"Ton-y-! Your grandfather Morse is here!! Hahaha!"

Morse, with the butt of the machine gun pressed against the shoulder guard of his bullet-proof armor, lit a cigarette and, striding towards the entrance, pulled the trigger and swept at the flickering lights on the opposite side of the hall.

His face, illuminated by the light, was filled with grim menace, like a devil climbing out of a chasm.

The areas swept by his machine gun appeared as if they were ravaged by a typhoon, leaving only a mess of severed limbs and debris.

Leaning against a marble pillar, the head of security for the "Final Game" showed a face full of fear, the submachine gun under his elbow trembling, he dared not peek out to retaliate.

Watching more and more of his brothers fall, he gritted his teeth and shouted into the radio hanging on his shoulder.

"Boss! That lunatic’s firepower is too strong! Brothers can’t hold it any longer—"

Before he finished speaking, Tony’s roar came from the other end of the radio.

"Then fight with all you’ve got! Reinforcements are almost here, die if you must but keep them outside!"

After yelling into the radio, Tony, now on the second floor, listened to the gunfire coming from below, feeling his heart pound.

He didn’t know where these fools managed to get such heavy firepower, nor did he understand what the Enlightenment Society was, even less so why it had targeted him.

He only knew one thing: if he couldn’t handle this trouble, he was doomed!

And it would be complete doom!

If a hair on the head of that person in the private room was harmed, the entire Blackwater Alley’s gangs would suffer!

No one would save him!

Listening to the progressively closer sound of gunfire, Tony bit his lip, wanting to reason with the person downstairs, yet unable to mention the name of the guest upstairs, he could only yell downstairs.

"Morse! What the hell are you doing! First you blew up my factory, now you’re causing trouble in my casino, I haven’t provoked you!"

Seeing no response from downstairs, he swallowed hard, lowering his stance further.

"Is it money you want? I’ll give it to you! Just name your price! I’ll give it to you now!"

Perhaps hearing the cowardice in his voice, laughter rose from downstairs.

"Money? Do you take me for a beggar? Tony, you underestimate me. I want it all!"

Tony was taken aback by the words, quickly enraged.

"Don’t push it too far! I’m giving you face!"

Downstairs, Morse curled his lip, mocking.

"Too far? Don’t be ridiculous, we’re all serving big figures, do you think I’d spare you for a few Dinars? Today it’s either you die or I live!"

He would fly up like a maggot with wings and become a true big figure.

By then, it wouldn’t just be Blackwater Alley.

The entire Evernight Harbor would bear his legend!

Tony’s expression froze on his face, then gradually twisted.

"...This lunatic."

His mind was a chaos, initially thinking that guy was just spouting nonsense, yet upon hearing the certainty in that voice, he hesitated involuntarily.

Why hadn’t the Guards arrived by now?

Usually, with such commotion, those guards would have long since driven over in their armored cars.

Could it be that the Enlightenment Society truly had heaven-reaching connections?!

Unfortunately, Peter hadn’t explained clearly what exactly was happening in the Northwest Urban Area, and as someone who wasn’t a Weilante, he had no interest in listening to what crap the Vellante People’s radio kept spewing.

The entire Northwest Urban Area was already a chaotic mess, with all the guards and even the stationed troops gathered there, only the combat units stationed at the harbor, soon to head to the frontline, hadn’t moved.

At this critical moment, naturally nobody paid attention to the happenings in Blackwater Alley.

Let alone a gang brawl, even if someone were to throw a nuclear bomb here, hardly anyone would care.

And as Tony was doubting and uncertain, Morse became increasingly convinced of his suspicion; the one supporting him had outmatched Tony’s backer, even a smile of assured victory appeared on his face.

That refined coward who smeared ash on his face hadn’t dared to show himself even once, completely oppressed by Morse’s one-sided attack, and the Guards seemed blind to the commotion in Blackwater Alley, ignoring even when a machine gun was mounted right under their noses.

What could better demonstrate the power of the Enlightenment Society?

With confidence multiplying, Morse became even more frenzied than usual, aiming the gun at the ceiling following the voice upstairs, laughing wildly while pulling the trigger to fire indiscriminately.

The bullets couldn’t pierce the concrete between floors, but it still startled Tony standing above.

Seeing the increasing number of "Hyenas" rushing into the casino and the gunfire intensifying below, he could only desperately urge his men to hold off upstairs.

However, his henchmen were also just human.

Everyone joined the gang to seek fortune, and at worst sought self-preservation; nobody expected to truly risk their life.

Noticing the Guards hadn’t moved and reinforcements were still nowhere in sight, the morale of the thugs guarding the casino’s first floor finally collapsed, as they abandoned their positions and fled with their heads in their hands.

The Iron Hand Gang was finished.

Even Tony’s most loyal subordinates had no doubt; their end had arrived.

The factory in the suburbs was bombed, the "Skull Crusher’s" head was chopped off, and their boss didn’t dare make a peep, even warning them not to mess with the other side.

And now, the opponent doesn’t even give them the chance to "tuck their tail and be a man," directly carrying a machine gun to their doorstep.

Their leader has already been abandoned by his backing.

There’s only one explanation left...

All the smart ones have run away cleanly, and the ones remaining are either muddle-headed, not fully conscious, or perhaps too alert.

Seeing the goons guarding the ground floor either dead or fleeing, Morse grinned at the corner of his mouth, didn’t bother chasing, just swept a burst towards their escape direction, then left the cover, leading a group of underlings across the ground covered in corpses towards the stairs.

Yet perhaps he was too reckless, maybe he was so heated that he relaxed his guard, so much so that when he sensed the sound of breathing behind the cabinet beside him, a young man already burst out holding a pu-9 submachine gun.

"Ahhh!!"

Using his screams to dispel fear, he shouted while pulling the trigger to open fire.

The chaotic shooting did indeed have some effect, catching Morse off guard, several bullets hit his chest.

Yet the 9mm bullets couldn’t penetrate the military bullet-proof armor on Morse’s body.

The madman he swept over with a burst just staggered, stumbled a few steps and leaned against the cover.

Meanwhile, all the underlings beside Morse reacted, firing anxiously at the oblivious reckless youngster, turning him directly into minced meat.

York was the first to rush to Morse’s side, asking nervously.

"Boss! Are you alright!"

Morse grinned, grabbed his arm, and stood up from the ground.

"I’m fine."

While speaking, he brushed his hand across his chest, revealing the shattered bullet heads clanging to the ground.

Seeing the boss completely unharmed, the surrounding underlings cheered and whistled.

Morse smiled, shouting into the empty stairwell.

"Tony! All your people are dead! How long do you plan to hide? Hahaha, don’t off yourself now, I still want to chat with you."

No response came from upstairs.

Morse didn’t waste words either, waved his hand, and led a crowd of underlings forward.

The young man who fired at him earlier lay in a pool of blood, twitching his mouth like a stranded goldfish.

York pulled out his gun and finished him off, but looking at those gradually hollowing eyes, Morse frowned.

Too similar.

The young man’s gaze was just like his own before.

Back then he was also a reckless youngster, with nothing but ambition and ruthlessness, constantly thinking of one thing — how to impress the boss and earn a name by risking his life.

The only dissimilarity was, this guy closed his eyes when shooting, which is the worst thing to do when sitting at the poker table.

So, the winning gambler stands here, while he is destined to lie on the ground.

Including Tony upstairs.

With a twitching brow, Morse paused for nothing, heading straight upstairs.

Unexpectedly, Tony hadn’t hidden but stood in the upstairs hall with a face of despair.

"You’re mad... Morse, do you know what you’re doing? We’re all finished."

Morse raised his eyebrow lightly, sneered coldly.

"You’re finished... After tonight, I’ll become the new master of Blackwater Alley."

"Hehe, I actually lost to a madman... Hehehe... Ahhhh!"

Tony suddenly burst into laughter, but quickly his laughter ceased, clutching his heavily bleeding thigh as he fell to the ground.

The pistol smoked and York spat on the floor, glaring at the twisting Tony with his face full of hostility.

"Stop faking, I’ve been fed up with you ages ago."

Curled up like a dying dog on the ground, Tony remained silent, his pale lips unable to voice anything, only twitching haphazardly.

That bullet pierced his artery, and in a few breaths, blood had soaked his pants red.

"Bandage him up, my friends and I still have questions for him. Remember, I want him alive."

Throwing this remark to the underlings beside him, Morse continued upstairs.

The whole fight was as easy as a textbook, effortlessly crushing Iron Hand Gang, and didn’t even lose a few brothers.

And after tonight, he would become the legend of Blackwater Alley, everyone would remember his name, and know exactly whom he’s working for.

As for who Tony’s backer was, it no longer mattered to him, that hidden hand behind had sent him here, naturally they would take care of trouble later.

However, another doubt lingered in Morse’s mind, why Tony didn’t run but chose to stand there and wait for death.

He couldn’t believe that sly guy hadn’t left himself an escape route, there must be more than one passage hidden in the casino.

Unless—

That arrogant guy never thought he could lose, or had a reason to not run no matter what.

With curiosity in his mind, he carried the machine gun upstairs, checking room by room, finally finding a locked door.

He politely knocked, no movement inside, yet the nicotine scent wafted through the gap, exposing someone’s presence inside.

York and the other underlings following him exchanged glances, all showing peculiar expressions.

The guy inside still felt like smoking.

That’s totally looking down on them.

"VIP private room."

Morse glanced back, grinning at his underlings, then kicked open the tightly closed door.

With a thump, the door crashed heavily onto the ground, he stepped over the threshold with the machine gun, seeing a man sitting on the couch smoking in front of him.

He was a Weilante.

His expression seemed surprised but showed no fear, even flicking the cigarette ash lightly.

The composure of that superior made Morse feel a subtle fear, but quickly that fear was replaced with restless anger.

Why isn’t this guy afraid at all!

Why is he looking at him like a dog!

"Nice shooting."

Pete admired Morse, dropping the ash from his cigarette.

"I’m suddenly quite fond of you."

Morse squinted his eyes slightly, his mouth subtly upturned as the smoking gun barrel was moved aside, bowing slightly like a graceful gentleman.

"...May I ask what to call you?"

Pete chuckled softly, replying in a bland tone.

"Tony never asked such foolish questions, he just did what he should, knowing what we let him know, then taking his share."

Morse tutted, shaking his head.

"Tsk tsk, that guy’s pitiful, now wriggling on the floor like a maggot."

Upon hearing about Tony’s tragic state, Peter showed an indifferent expression and even smiled slightly.

"Really? I didn’t expect him to be quite loyal, although a bit of a waste."

Morse’s eyes narrowed into slits, his gaze as venomous as a snake’s tongue.

"...Waste?"

"Isn’t he?" Peter shrugged, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, "Couldn’t handle a little thing, got his neck bitten off by the dogs raised by the Guards, just like mud that can’t stick to the Wall, my patience is nearly gone."

At this point, he paused for a moment, looking at Morse standing at the door with interest.

"I find you’re more capable than Tony, although not as clever as him... but that’s not really important for us, consider working for us?"

"Working... for you guys?" Morse was stunned, then suddenly laughed, "Then end up like that dead dog down there? Don’t joke, buddy, I’m with the Enlightenment Society, who the hell are you?"

Peter squinted his eyes slightly, a hint of murderous intent released from his eye slits.

Except for Captain Dickens, no one had ever dared to speak to him like this.

"Enlightenment Society... what’s that? I’ve never even heard of it."

Morse sneered, mocking him.

"Your level is too low, of course, you wouldn’t have heard of it... Do you know why there’s such a big commotion outside, but the Guards haven’t reacted at all?"

Seeing Peter’s bewildered face, Morse didn’t wait for him to answer and continued slowly.

"An invisible hand is manipulating everything behind the scenes, with your vision, you can’t even see its existence... of course, as a Disciple, I can only glimpse a corner of the iceberg, but even this exposed iceberg corner is enough to crush you all."

Peter looked at him dumbfounded, laughing and crying.

"What are you talking about? Are you out of your damn mind—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the gun muzzle suddenly aimed at him spat out fire.

Completely unprepared for the shooting, Peter took several bullets and tumbled back, along with the sofa beneath him, turning into a beehive.

The gun muzzle recoiled upwards, the bullets sweeping up to the ceiling, and only then did Morse release the trigger.

He walked over to the body with a sinister smile, picked up the blood-stained cigarette butt, and stuck it in his mouth.

"Sorry, it misfired."

York also walked in behind him, spitting on the "blood man" lying on the ground.

"Lived too long, who allowed you to talk to my boss like that!"

Peter lay on his back, eyes wide open, with a bloody mess where his chest used to be.

He couldn’t believe to his death that this bunch of lunatics dared to lay hands on him.

And on the territory of the Weilante People no less.

Having no time to deal with this guy, Morse rummaged through his body but found no identification information, so he tossed him aside with a smirk.

From now on, this "Last Game" would be Morse’s property.

The gamblers in Evernight Harbor wouldn’t care what happened here, nor would they care how much blood had flowed over those tile floors.

Once they’d cleaned it up, the gamblers would flood back in wave after wave as usual.

Of course, it’s not just a casino.

He would take over all of Tony’s assets and use the Gold earned from those assets to transform Blackwater Alley into the most bustling city that never sleeps in the entire Great Desert!

And he, Morse—

Would redefine the order here and become the uncrowned king of this sleepless city!

This wasn’t something he dreamed about, but it’s a way to indirectly achieve his dream.

He walked to the shattered window and stood there, squinting his eyes slightly, enjoying the evening breeze blowing in, savoring the afterglow of the heated event.

York stood beside him, his face full of bulky muscles written with excitement and admiration.

"Boss... what next?"

"Hmm... let me think," Morse turned back to the body, giving one immobile leg a kick, "drag this guy downstairs, maybe our friends will be interested."

His work was done.

That Talan and Comte should be looking for him... or the Enlightenment Society intends to send someone else over.

Morse wasn’t in a hurry, after all, he’d already won this gamble.

However, at that moment, a sense of alarm suddenly rose from his heart, so much so that cold sweat seeped down his back.

What’s going on?

Could something have gone wrong?

His mind raced with thoughts, and just in that instant, a brief hum came from outside the window, followed by York’s head turning into a smashed watermelon and hitting the ground with a "thud."

"York!!! No! Damn it, a sniper!"

Morse’s eyes turned red in an instant, shouting desperately, he hurriedly evacuated the room.

At the same time, after a few sharp "pew pew pew" gunshots, the entire second floor of the casino had turned into a sea of blood.

A group of soldiers armed to the teeth flowed in through the door.

They were wearing unified Exoskeletons, equipped from head to toe enough to make Cannon Fodder at the front lines drool with envy.

Sweeping Group!

As one of the tactical trump cards of the Army, the Southern Legion’s armament configuration was fundamentally different from that of the Eastern Legion.

The latter still continued the tactic of large-scale collective strength, while the former leaned to some extent towards the enterprises on the East Coast.

Lying in a pool of blood, Tony had only half a breath left.

Breathing feebly, he lifted his groggy eyelids to look at the boots that stopped before him.

Using all his strength, he reached out, leaving a blood-red handprint on the boot, trying to grasp something.

At the same time, he uttered broken, pleading words.

"...I did my best."

"I did everything you wanted... I just beg you... spare my family... they know nothing..."

The soldier didn’t waste a word, pressing the sound-suppressed gun muzzle against his forehead, efficiently ending his life with a gunshot, making him collapse back into the pool of blood.

Pressing a finger against the side of his helmet, the soldier exhaled a breath of cold air, concisely reporting.

"Second floor cleared."

Moments later, the communication channel transmitted a response.

"The armed men are moving from the fifth floor to the fourth floor, they’re near the safety passage... no hostages found."

"Understood."

Replying swiftly, the person waved towards the stairs, then veered towards the nearby safety passage.

The soldiers occupying the second floor immediately split into two groups, advancing in the direction of Morse.

Upon discovering the uninvited guests, the "Hyenas" busy counting the loot quickly grabbed their weapons and fired at the heavily armed soldiers.

However, facing this well-trained group of soldiers, they couldn’t even delay them, being shot through the heads one by one.

The battle was a complete one-sided slaughter!

Already retreated to the fourth floor, Morse’s face was full of terror.

The gunfire from downstairs reminded him that it was no longer safe, yet he was trapped here with nowhere to escape.

Exiting the safety corridor, he leaned against the corner of the stairway, loudly shouting downstairs.

"Damn it! Who are you guys?!"

The group didn’t respond.

They were like cold killing machines, cleanly and swiftly harvesting one life after another.

Watching his comrades continuously fall, a deep sense of helplessness crept into Morse’s heart.

He couldn’t just die here!

Especially like this, dying without knowing why!

In his usual rabid style, the urge overtook him, he cursed aloud, threw down the machine gun hanging from his shoulder, then used his shoulder to force open the window and jumped directly from the fourth floor.

Even at this height, if not killed by the fall, he could be left severely disabled.

But perhaps fate had other plans, his shoulder first crashed against a rain cover and then he rolled into a street-side restaurant’s barrel for kitchen waste.

The restaurant’s facade was shut tight, the entire street silent, as if he were the only one left.

Since some unknown time, the sky, filled with dense clouds, began drizzling, the incessant sound seemed to want to drown him.

Morse had never been so embarrassed.

Even in his most wretched times.

Like a frightened trapped beast, he staggered and stumbled away, yet not knowing where to run.

Who exactly were those people?

Why did they want to kill him?

And also...

Where exactly was the Enlightenment Society?

Illusions seemed to appear before his eyes, the road beneath gradually turning into nothingness, as if returning to that unrealistic dream.

In that dream, he was a surgeon, running a very ordinary clinic.

Blackwater Alley had been peaceful for decades, without endless gang fights.

He had a sensible son and a cute daughter. Although he wasn’t a competent father, at least he was much more reliable than his own dad, never bringing bottles back home.

"Ahhhh!!!"

He let out a low growl from his mouth, trying to drive those chaotic images out of his mind.

That wasn’t what he wanted!

Never did he intend to have these vulnerabilities.

Yet he didn’t know why he saw these damn things in that dream, even had a faint thought of wanting another second there.

And just then, a figure appeared in the distance.

The person wore a raincoat, beneath it was a shiny black exoskeleton and a compact assault rifle.

Despair was written all over Morse’s face, but seeing the other not firing, hope rekindled in his heart.

That person lightly lifted the brim of the raincoat, seemingly to get a better look at his face.

Morse heard a soft sigh, his footsteps involuntarily slowing down.

"Sigh... I shouldn’t sympathize with someone like you, but how to say it... I have no grudge against you either."

After a pause, that person placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Keep running, leave this to me."

Morse stared blankly at him, his clear eyes showing a hint of doubt, but tremblingly he asked.

"...Are you from the Enlightenment Society?"

"Yes." The Comedian gently patted Morse’s shoulder, speaking concisely, "You know where to go."

He wasn’t really sure, after all, that idiot [Desert Falcon] wasn’t as reliable as he thought... though he himself wasn’t the most reliable either.

Anyway, that guy had reasonably analyzed the data collected from the Desert Army, linked one clue after another, and judged that Morse might indeed know something about the Enlightenment Society.

Otherwise, it’s hard to explain why this guy bet so big, risking everything, sold himself so thoroughly for this illusory bait.

Although asking face-to-face would be a better option, time was running short.

From the explosion at the broadcast station, only two and a half hours had passed in total.

Hearing this stranger’s words, hope rekindled in Morse’s eyes.

The Enlightenment Society hadn’t abandoned him after all!

The chaotic memories gradually cleared up, he remembered that pitch-black alley.

"...Leave it to you then."

With one last grateful look at the stranger wearing a raincoat, he turned and hurriedly ran into the drizzling rain curtain.

Meanwhile, a group of soldiers wearing exoskeletons had also chased out from the "Last Game" casino.

The communication channel echoed with noisy exchanges.

"Damn... Peter is dead!"

"Mission failed."

"One jumped out from the fourth-floor window."

"This guy is lucky, didn’t die from the fall."

"Leave it to me, you guys retrieve the bodies."

The sniper lying on the rooftop took a deep breath, replying coldly.

The rain wasn’t heavy, the impact on visibility was minimal, and with few people on the street, his scope quickly locked onto the figure running along the street.

But just as he was about to pull the trigger, someone suddenly patted his shoulder.

"Hey, what are you looking at."

The sniper was stunned, quickly turned his head, only to have someone grab his collar, yank the mic off his helmet, and throw him off from the six-floor tube building.

Listening to the dull sound from downstairs, Sand Sculpture craned his neck to look below, seeing the person lying flat on the ground silent, he softly muttered a guilty verdict.

Without a hint of apology, he lay down behind the sniper rifle.

His eye moved close to the scope, Sand Sculpture pressed near his ear and cleared his throat.

"Sniper ready, but no support... the cleanup is up to you, I have to keep an eye on the ’bait’ over there."

Elsewhere, on the distant street, as the Comedian quietly awaited, estimating the pursuers were closing in, he removed a time bomb from the exoskeleton.

This was for the closure.

After all, the Alliance and the Legion hadn’t officially gone to war, and he was a black-market entrant, getting discovered would be somewhat troublesome.

Setting the death time, he skillfully inserted the bomb into the tactical strap at his lower back.

Listening to the voices coming from the communication channel, he responded casually, then shut down communications.

"Alright, got it, I’m dead again."