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Illumi stood on the rooftop, embracing himself as he watched the thug who had punched down the street lamp.
"The first manifestation is enhanced strength."
But he remembered that when Spirrow got it, it didn't seem to have this manifestation.
However, it was possible that because Spirrow was a Nen user, he didn't exhibit this increased strength.
"What are you afraid of?"
Paul spread his arms and walked towards his two thug companions, dramatically tossing his hair, and smiling.
"We're friends, I won't hurt you."
"Paul, how did you put on that mask?"
His two companions asked. Besides his great strength, his mind seemed normal.
"I don't know."
Paul replied casually.
"Can you take it off?"
One thug asked. Paul froze for a moment, then placed his hand on the edge of the mask.
"Ugh!"
Paul seemed to exert a great deal of force, but he couldn't take it off no matter what.
"What's going on? This mask!?"
His exaggerated movements and tone made his two companions look at him with suspicion.
"How about we help you take it off?"
Paul paused his attempt to remove the mask, then stepped back, saying.
"Your strength is less than mine. You can't take it off."
His two companions looked at each other and shrugged. The three of them, their hopes of selling the mask for money dashed, teamed up and headed back the way they came.
On the way, they met some acquaintances, but everyone thought his mask was fake. How could a petty thug have a golden mask?
Illumi followed them all the way back to a dilapidated old house. This was their home, temporarily.
A week passed. Paul and his two thug companions wandered around, finding sparsely populated areas to test their strength.
When wandering the streets, he often couldn't resist destroying things. At this time, Paul was still mentally normal.
The second week, seven days, allowed Paul to clearly recognize his strength.
He was full of confidence, causing trouble everywhere, fighting, and even taking over small territories, such as basketball courts.
The third week, his confidence began to swell.
He was no longer content with small-time mischief. He took his two companions to other gang territories and stole cars.
During the car theft, he severely beat up members of the other gang, tying them behind cars and dragging them on the ground, tormenting them for a long time.
Because of this, he even had a dispute with the gang leader who managed his group.
The fourth week, because they were causing trouble everywhere, stealing, fighting, they provoked many small gangs.
Finally, one day, the group leader decided to teach this troublesome petty thug a lesson.
And at this time, Paul's confidence swelled again. His psychology and mental state began to show abnormalities.
He was no longer content with his status as a petty thug. He killed the group leader who came to teach him a lesson and took over the territory through violence.
The fifth week, he led people to other gang territories to cause trouble and smash up their operations.
He single-handedly took on dozens of people, smashing over a dozen venues in one night.
The sixth week, his reputation and deeds spread throughout the gray area. Everyone called him crazy, a crazy man with a golden mask.
The seventh week, the gang boss, seeing his strength, called him to trade drugs with smugglers from other countries.
But he suddenly got an idea and decided to double-cross them, killing everyone who came to trade.
As for his own people, he only left his two original thug companions alive.
"Paul, are you crazy!?"
His two thug companions knelt on the ground, their faces filled with fear as they looked at him, their eyes revealing terror.
Paul looked down at his hands, those blood-stained hands, which, at some unknown point, had actually turned into demonic claws.
Veins bulged, his fingers were long and slender, and his nails were sharp and pitch black.
The eighth week, the gang boss found out about the double-crossing. He secretly gathered Paul's two companions and learned the whole story.
The gang boss summoned Paul to the headquarters, intending to use violence to seize the golden mask from Paul's face.
Inside a car repair shop, the office nameplate read: [TRISTIN THADDEUS].
"Creak~"
Paul was led into the office by a gang bodyguard.
He scanned the office. Besides seven bodyguards, his two companions were also in the office.
A lean middle-aged man in a black suit jacket and a red short-sleeved shirt sat in the office chair.
Dark circles under his eyes, slicked-back hair, yellowish skin. His hands, from his fingers to his neck, were covered in dense tattoos. He was Tristin Thaddeus, the head of the Thaddeus gang.
"Clack..."
Tristin didn't look at Paul who had just entered. He joyfully opened a cedar box, inside which eight cigars were neatly arranged.
"Click... Snap."
He put a cigar into the circular hole of a cigar cutter, cut it with a "snap," then put the cigar in his mouth and repeatedly moistened it with saliva.
"What do you want with me?"
Paul, who had been watching him, finally spoke impatiently, his tone showing no respect for him.
"Snap..."
Tristin lit the cigar with a match, closed his eyes, took a deep puff, and then exhaled a smoke ring.
He savored the rich aroma of the authentic cigar. He opened his eyes and slowly looked up at Paul.
"Paul, you don't even call me boss."
Paul, wearing the golden mask, said nothing. No one could tell his expression, as he was wearing a mask.
"He's about to lose control of his killing intent."
At this moment, Illumi, disguised as a gang bodyguard, stood behind Tristin. He looked at Paul, who was enveloped in a thick, malicious, black killing aura, and a faint smile played on his lips.
"How did the transaction I gave you go?"
"Was that large batch of goods properly handled?"
Tristin held the cigar in his right hand, exhaling smoke, and looked at Paul with a half-smile.
"Almost."
Paul's voice was cold, but his heart grew increasingly anxious. His fingers trembled slightly, and veins bulged.
"Al...most?"
Tristin, using his right hand holding the cigar, pointed to Paul's head word by word, repeating it with a mocking tone.
"Do you know how much Jenny I lost because of you?!"
"Because of you! How many partners did I make enemies with?"
"Just because of you, you damn punk! You actually dared to double-cross us in a deal!"
Tristin's tone grew heavier. He unbuttoned his shirt and uncomfortably twisted his neck from side to side.
The chair scraped open with a "clack." Tristin suddenly stood up and hurled the cedar box containing cigars at Paul.
"You also killed my goddamn men!"
"You killed fifty-seven of my loyal subordinates!"
Tristin held the cigar in his hand and walked step by step to Paul, then leaned close to his ear and spoke in a low voice.
"Now others want me to give an explanation, and my subordinates also want me to give an explanation."
"What do you think I should use to give them an explanation?"
Tristin raised the cigar in his hand to Paul's ear level and slowly pushed it towards his ear.
At this moment, Paul's killing intent and madness could no longer be suppressed. His eyes glowed red, and his black nails suddenly extended.
"Pfft!"
Tristin, who was about to press the cigar to Paul's ear, trembled. His eyes showed disbelief as he slowly looked down at his abdomen.
A cold and warm sensation surged simultaneously, accompanied by intense pain.