Chapter 12: The Thunder Mother

As soon as Luke stepped out of the alley, he saw another group charging toward him, each exuding murderous intent and brandishing MP7 submachine guns.

They spotted Luke at once.

“That’s him! Take down the dwarf!” someone shouted.

Without hesitation, the group raised their submachine guns and fired. A hail of bullets rained down on Luke, threatening to tear him apart.

“Damn it…” Luke quickly conjured a shield of psychic energy, then darted behind the nearest cover, his movement swift and precise.

“Luke! Annihilate these miserable humans who dare offend the great Apostle!” Lotus shrieked excitedly.

Under the onslaught of more than a dozen submachine guns, the psychic shield lasted nearly ten seconds before its glow flickered and it shattered. Bullets continued to pummel the large metal dumpster behind which Luke hid, the noise exploding in his ears like a relentless barrage of firecrackers.

To be safe, he raised another psychic shield around himself before retrieving a shock grenade from his storage space. He armed it, swung his arm, and flung it out without a second glance.

The grenade rolled beneath the feet of the gunmen in the darkness.

These shooters were clearly more seasoned than the previous group. Though they couldn’t see what had landed at their feet, instinct told them it was trouble—and they guessed what it was.

A chorus of desperate yells erupted: “Grenade! Get down!”

Boom—

The shock grenade detonated. For an instant, the flash of electricity illuminated every building nearby, like a camera flash in the night.

This was a typical chaotic block in Hell’s Kitchen: cluttered junk everywhere, dilapidated buildings covered in graffiti, rusted, unstable iron stairways, and a few battered old cars parked below.

The force of the grenade’s explosion shattered the lower windows of the nearest old apartment building, glass crashing to the ground. Car alarms blared to life in a cacophony.

Through the swirling smoke and dust, anguished cries rose from those shooters who hadn’t managed to dive for cover. Those unfortunate enough to be caught at the blast’s heart simply vanished without a trace.

In the wake of the explosion, pandemonium seized the block.

“Fuck! Open fire! Open fire!!”

Even before the dust had settled, the gunmen opened up on Luke again.

The relentless crackle of gunfire jarred the entire street awake. Residents of Hell’s Kitchen, jolted from their nightmares, cowered in what safety they could find, bewildered and terrified by the chaos erupting outside.

In the maelstrom of bullets, Luke didn’t hesitate—he lobbed another grenade from behind his cover.

“Fuck! Grenade! Move—”

Boom—

Barely a dozen seconds after the previous blast, half of Hell’s Kitchen heard a second explosion.

In truth, the first real explosion had been back in the alley—the grenade that killed the pistol-wielding thugs—but it hadn’t been nearly as deafening as one in an open space like this.

Light blazed, the blast deafening, shattering every window from the first to the fifth floor of the neighboring building. The car alarms’ wailing reached a fever pitch.

The gunmen scrambled up, battered and covered in dust. Those who survived dove behind whatever cover they could find. Some panted behind dumpsters, hands trembling as they reloaded. Others crouched behind wrecked cars, clutching bleeding arms and reeling from the concussion. Most hadn’t been so lucky—they lay dead where the explosions had caught them.

All who remained wore terror in their eyes. None of them had expected their opponent to be so ruthless, carrying and deploying grenades without hesitation.

Was this the act of a sane man?

Compared to their own submachine guns, they felt almost innocent—at least they weren’t trying to blow up the entire neighborhood.

Gunshots and curses mingled in the night. A few gunmen signaled to each other—two of them, crouching low and using the darkness for cover, tried to flank Luke from the side.

They hid behind a dumpster, waiting for a shot.

Unfortunately for them, their furtive movements had already been spotted by Lotus. In the gloom, Lotus saw as clearly as in daylight.

“There are two over there! Kill them! Kill them!” Lotus shrieked from Luke’s shoulder.

Not that Luke needed the warning—he was already on guard for any sneak attacks. Without hesitation, he tossed a shock grenade in their direction.

Seeing the grenade, the two gunmen, just about to pop up, scrambled back behind the dumpster, too afraid to show themselves.

They didn’t realize that, in the shadows, Luke’s lips curled in a mocking smile.

A blinding flash and a thunderous boom—another shock grenade exploded.

The dumpster survived unscathed, but the two hapless gunmen behind it convulsed violently, collapsing to the ground within seconds, motionless.

“Don’t they know dumpsters conduct electricity?” Luke muttered.

The distant gunmen who witnessed this were stunned.

What kind of grenade was that? It even had electricity! Was it a new model from Stark Industries?

No one dared approach again. In less than three minutes, of the dozen or so who’d come, ten lay dead. Fewer than five remained.

One gunman, shaking, pulled out his phone, dialed, and shouted, “Send reinforcements! The enemy has heavy firepower! Repeat, requesting immediate backup!”

A voice responded, “How many of them are there?”

“I don’t know… Oh, shit!”

Another electric grenade exploded nearby, blasting two more comrades hiding behind a car to pieces, the vehicle itself reduced to twisted wreckage.

Covered in dust, the gunman snatched up his phone and howled, “Fuck! They have heavy firepower! Repeat, heavy firepower! We’re being suppressed! Send backup now!”

The person on the line had heard the blast. “Fuck, hold on! Reinforcements are on the way!”

While they waited for help, the last two gunmen cowered behind cover, barely daring to return fire. Occasionally, they’d poke their guns out and spray wildly, wasting ammunition at random.

With their firepower diminished, Luke, protected by his psychic shield, moved with ease.

He stood, surveyed the scene, then pulled out two more shock grenades—one in each hand—and hurled them toward the shooters’ hiding spots.

He didn’t care if he missed—he’d made the grenades himself, and they cost him nothing.

The gunmen were desperate. Up against such an unreasonable foe—one who threw grenades with wild abandon—their courage failed. In ordinary gang skirmishes, submachine guns were the heaviest weapons around. But this wasn’t Afghanistan; this was a turf war. Yet, right now, it felt exactly like Afghanistan—only they were the insurgents, pinned by overwhelming American firepower. Show their heads, and a grenade came flying; stay hidden, and two grenades came their way…

This fight was hopeless.

By the time reinforcements arrived, Luke was lobbing grenades left and right with glee. Not a single window in the entire street remained intact.

Two vans screeched to a halt, disgorging a swarm of armed gang members. But they found that those who’d called for backup were all dead—no survivors.

Before they could even spot the enemy, another shock grenade rolled underfoot, crackling with electricity.

The scene played out again.

“Grenade! Get down—” the crowd screamed.

Boom—

“Open fire! Kill those sons of bitches!” the gunmen roared.

Even fiercer firepower swept Luke’s position.

Luke, shielded by psychic energy, kept tossing grenades from his storage space, each arcing through the night to land among his foes.

The shock grenades exploded like lightning and thunder, the entire street trembling with each blast.

Those nearest the vans suffered first. In an instant, both vehicles were blasted to scrap metal, their fuel tanks igniting, sending pillars of fire and more screams into the night.

The gangsters scattered in terror, frantically calling for help: “Requesting backup! The enemy has heavy firepower! There must be at least ten of them! Damn it, we can’t hold out! Send more men! Oh, fuck—”

“Ten of us? Not even close,” Luke muttered, sending two more grenades flying.

More shouts of “Fuck!” erupted, chaos spreading like wildfire.

At that moment, the entire street had become a hell of thunder and lightning.