Noah Vale stared at the container of sulfuric acid in front of him and took a slow breath.
Then he plunged both hands straight into the liquid.
The moment his skin submerged, the chemical reaction began. The acid immediately started dehydrating and burning the surface of his palms, blackening the outer layers of skin.
But Noah's body had changed. His skin was far tougher than it used to be. At this point, it would take a long time for the acid to eat deep enough to cause serious damage.
Which meant he had to speed things up.
Heat spread through his hands as the acid worked. Noah calmly rubbed his palms together, deliberately grinding away the damaged surface so the acid could penetrate deeper.
Pain surged through his nerves.
A kind of pain that once would have knocked him unconscious.
Now he barely reacted.
Over time, he'd noticed something interesting. As his mind grew stronger, his tolerance for pain seemed to grow with it. What used to overwhelm him now felt… manageable.
Two minutes later, he slowly lifted his hands out of the acid.
The fingerprints and hardened skin on his palms were completely gone. The charred flesh was split open in places, dark blood running down his wrists.
But only seconds after leaving the acid, the bleeding began to slow.
His body was already repairing the damage.
The burned flesh stopped hurting, replaced instead by the maddening itch of rapid regeneration as new tissue formed beneath the surface.
Next came the worst part.
Noah closed his eyes.
Then he lowered his face directly into the cloudy acid.
Half an hour later, the system quietly logged the event.
The acid had destroyed the outer layers of skin on his hands and face. His body would eventually restore everything completely.
It simply took time.
Noah studied the information appearing in his interface and frowned.
Yesterday, his body needed roughly three hours to fully recover.
Today the recovery time had dropped by another half hour.
Which meant two things.
His healing ability was getting stronger.
And the acid was becoming less effective.
As his body grew tougher, it took longer for the acid to cause meaningful damage. If this trend continued, the method wouldn't remain viable forever.
He had even briefly considered more extreme methods—breaking an arm, or tearing off parts of his face to make regeneration work harder.
But the practical problems stopped him.
What would he do with the extra body parts afterward?
Carrying around severed limbs after every training session sounded like an easy way to attract attention.
So acid it was.
For now.
After cleaning up the equipment, Noah changed clothes and pulled on a black cloak.
He exited through the back door.
Avoiding cameras and busy streets, he moved through narrow service roads and abandoned alleys as he headed toward Manhattan.
At the southern edge of Manhattan, inside Chinatown, a middle-aged man reclined comfortably in a courtyard chair.
He wore a traditional long coat and idly rolled a pair of walnuts between his fingers.
This was Victor Kane.
Standing beside him was a younger man with a nervous posture.
"Eddie," Victor Kane said lazily, glancing at him, "I heard someone wiped out two gangs in the slums."
"Yes, Uncle Kane," Eddie replied respectfully. "According to police chatter, it was done by a badly disfigured man. They think it might be some kind of mutant revenge."
Victor Kane clicked his tongue.
"New York's getting messy lately."
He shook his head slowly.
"No wonder that kid always committed his crimes in smaller cities. New York's full of monsters hiding in plain sight. You never know when you'll step on the wrong tail."
Eddie hesitated before asking, "Do you think Noah Vale will really give us thirty million?"
Victor Kane chuckled confidently.
"He's a smart man. With his reputation now, he'll earn that money back in no time. He won't risk a war over something this small."
His smile turned cold.
"With the secret I have on him…"
"I can squeeze him for the rest of his life."
Outside the mansion, Chinatown bustled with daytime activity.
Shops were open. Pedestrians filled the street.
And walking straight down the middle of it all was a bald man covered in burn scars.
People instinctively moved aside as he approached.
A nearby NYPD officer stepped forward.
"Hey—hold up. What's going on with—"
Noah didn't bother answering.
His hand flashed out.
The slap hit like a hammer, knocking the officer unconscious and sending him collapsing to the pavement.
Under the stunned gazes of the crowd, Noah stepped over the fallen officer and continued walking.
He didn't slow down until he reached a large redwood gate.
He looked at it quietly.
A year ago, he had come and gone through this courtyard countless times.
Then he raised his foot.
And kicked.
BOOM.
The thick wooden bolt snapped instantly.
The heavy redwood doors exploded inward, flying across the courtyard before splitting apart and crashing to the ground.
The spectators outside recoiled another few steps.
Knocking out a cop might be written off as brute strength.
This?
This was something else.
Two gang members guarding the entrance stared in shock at the shattered gate—and the scarred man standing in the doorway.
"W-who are you?" one of them stammered. "What do you want here?"
Noah didn't waste a second.
He stepped forward.
His hands clamped onto their throats like steel traps.
Crack.
Crack.
Their necks twisted violently under the force.
The two men collapsed instantly, clutching their broken necks.
As their consciousness faded, they heard the hoarse answer to their question.
"I'm here to clean the filth out of this world."
More guards inside the courtyard reacted.
They reached for their guns.
Too slow.
The distance between them—barely twenty feet—meant nothing to Noah.
He stepped forward once.
The explosive force of the movement launched him across the gap in a blink.
His scarred hand filled their vision.
Then—
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Each palm strike slammed down onto the tops of their skulls.
When Noah lifted his hand, clear palm-shaped dents remained on their foreheads.
The impact had driven their necks down into their chests, shattering their spines.
One by one, they collapsed to their knees.
Dead before they even hit the ground.
A door deeper inside the mansion suddenly burst open.
Eddie stepped out, already shouting.
"Do you idiots know the rules?! Uncle Kane is resting—why the hell are you making so much—"
He stopped.
His eyes hadn't even fully registered the bodies.
Because Noah's fist was already filling his entire field of vision.
The punch landed.
Eddie's head exploded like a dropped watermelon.
Blood and fragments sprayed across the hallway walls and floor.
Inside the room beyond, Victor Kane sat frozen in his chair.
Chunks of flesh slid down onto his clothes.
The metallic scent of blood filled the air, turning his stomach instantly.
He stared in disbelief.
Then he looked up.
The scarred man at the doorway slowly smiled.
Rows of white teeth showed beneath burned lips.
If this old bastard hadn't called him out of nowhere with blackmail, Noah wouldn't have needed to go through any of this.
Under Victor Kane's stunned gaze, Noah calmly turned around.
And shut the door.
The room fell silent.
Then the screaming began.
It lasted for nearly a full minute before finally fading away.