With the hostage no longer restraining him, the brute was now completely free.
Both of his hands were unbound, crimson fury burning in his eyes as they locked onto the boy. His body trembled—like a beast on the verge of charging.
That look reminded Lin Mo of the Maelstrom gang—their cyberpsychotic members who loved replacing their eyes with multi-optic implants that constantly flickered red, like mechanical spiders watching their prey.
Tension reached its peak. No one dared even to breathe.
The killing intent hanging between the two of them was palpable. Whether it was the brute's rampage or the youth's lethal swiftness, neither had left any doubt about their lethality.
Neither moved. No one else dared to, either.
This kind of stillness always needed something—some sound—to break it. Perhaps the wind. Or a distant car horn. Just like in a braindance western, where two gunslingers stared each other down in the dusty desert, eyes sharp as eagles, expressions cold as ice, tension as thick as the grit in the air.
The brute hesitated. His primal instinct screamed that he shouldn't make the first move. His only chance lay in reacting—tracking Lin Mo's every motion and responding the instant he did.
And Lin Mo was waiting for that exact moment to strike.
Seconds passed.
The brute's expression remained fierce, like a raging gorilla. He had surrendered his reason to instinct—but somehow, that made him even stronger. His stance was perfect. No openings.
So be it.
Lin Mo gently raised his katana, stepping forward and entering his time-dilated domain.
The world fell into eerie silence.
To everyone else, it was a sudden gust—a sharp, cutting wind that shattered the standstill. And then came the metallic clang of steel on steel.
The moment Sandevistan kicked in, Lin Mo took the initiative.
His blade flashed like moonlight across a rippling lake, icy gleam bursting forth with killing intent.
He struck—a vertical slash aimed right down the middle. Azure light slashed from above.
The brute roared, but in Lin Mo's slowed perception, the sound was muffled and drawn out—a futile attempt to scare him off.
Too late.
Before the roar could fully leave the brute's throat, Lin Mo was already there—his nimble body leaping high, sword trailing a glowing arc like a phantom crescent.
The brute crossed his arms to block. Sparks flew as steel scraped against chrome.
One strike failed—so Lin Mo kicked off the ground, flipping into the air again, slashing horizontally.
The attack came from the brute's periphery—he quickly raised his arm to block, then counterpunched toward the airborne boy.
But Lin Mo twisted midair with dancer-like grace, narrowly dodging the massive fist.
He caught the brute's arm, dropping down while twisting his body, trying to flip the brute using his own momentum.
It didn't work.
Despite leveraging all his strength—and the brute's own momentum—he couldn't bring him down.
The man was as immovable as stone. Flipping him was a pipe dream.
There was no time to rethink his next move.
He ducked under the brute's arm, spinning to the other side just as a fist flew past—missing completely.
The brute raised both arms, shook violently to break free of Lin Mo's grip, and swung again—only to hit nothing but air.
Every motion he made was like swatting flies.
His massive strength meant nothing if he couldn't land a blow. His punches were wasted, flailing uselessly.
Even a kid doing warm-up stretches would look more elegant.
"Tough bastard," Lin Mo muttered in slowed time, silently moving behind him.
A downward diagonal slash.
The katana bit deep from the brute's shoulder, peeling away faux-skin and exposing polished cybernetics beneath.
A solid hit.
The brute howled again—wild, incoherent.
"Full-body cyberware... total conversion. No wonder he's a fucking monster."
Lin Mo murmured, staring at the exposed inner machinery. It was obvious the man had turned nearly his entire body into chrome.
He wanted to follow up—but the brute reacted fast, swinging a fist at his head.
Lin Mo vanished before it landed.
He had no intention of blocking, let alone taking the hit head-on.
A punch from that monster would be like getting slammed by a siege hammer. No one in their right mind would try to tank it.
The brute roared again, trying to intimidate with sheer volume.
Even slowed down, the low, distorted scream grated on Lin Mo's nerves.
He circled into the man's blind spot and slashed again. The brute blocked.
Slash. Block. Slash. Block.
Over and over—calculated, controlled.
Lin Mo held the initiative the entire time. He gave nothing away—no missteps, no vulnerabilities.
The brute, forced to defend, grew sloppier. Even the best instincts faltered eventually.
And when that moment came—the Black Unicorn carved another arc into chrome flesh.
This loop continued for several seconds. In that time, Lin Mo unleashed nearly a hundred slashes.
Less than ten hit—but those few were enough. Enough to bleed the brute out.
If it kept going, even the most indestructible armor would fall.
Cause of death? Death by a thousand cuts.
Eventually, Lin Mo struck again—this time from the lower left, aiming straight for the heart.
As expected, the brute caught it.
But then—another blade appeared.
A flash of burning red streaked down from above, aimed straight at Lin Mo's head.
The tide had turned.
The brute had finally remembered he was armed—and now that he had an opening, he struck without hesitation.
Lin Mo tried to pull his katana back—but his pupils shrank.
Instead of deflecting with his fist, the brute's hand twisted—five fingers clamping down like a raptor's talon, locking the Black Unicorn in place with terrifying grip strength.
And above—blazing crimson steel fell toward his skull.
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