However, the scene that followed was one that all witnesses would never forget.
Driven by fear, after the police officers fired their weapons uncontrollably, they initially believed the problem was solved.
After all, even if a person had wings, it shouldn't be possible to block bullets, right?
Although the guy in front of them was a muscle monstrosity covered in fleshy wings, since they had opened fire, the issue must surely be resolved.
But the figure of Hashimoto Yoma suddenly blurred where he stood; he wasn't dodging the bullets, but rather... charging directly into the barrage. He wasn't even using his wings to block; instead, he was vibrating them, seemingly pointlessly making a sound.
His speed was so great that it exceeded the limits of a normal person's retinal capture; all they could see was a distorted afterimage rushing through the hail of gunfire, having made no attempt whatsoever to evade the bullets.
"Pfft!"
"Crack!"
"Ah—!"
The sickening sound of cracking bones, tearing flesh, and short, shrill screams instantly replaced the gunfire.
Sand Man's pupils contracted to pinpricks. He saw things clearer than the average person: that monster used his hands, his feet, and even his body to directly smash the bullets fired at him!
When bullets hit him, they turned into small metal flakes, completely unable to penetrate his skin, not even by a fraction of an inch. Even the bullets that landed on his head were sliced open directly by his hair as they grazed past him... This was simply inhuman!
He was like a tiger entering a flock of sheep—a winged, flying tiger.
He made no attacks with his fists or feet; he simply vibrated his wings instantly, flew through the crowd, and then flew back.
Then, he lightly clapped his hands and, under the bewildered gaze of all the onlookers, casually stated, "The problem is solved."
Immediately afterward, the mounted police officers suddenly began bleeding from all seven orifices, their eyes vacant. They coughed up large clots of blood mixed with fragments of internal organs, one by one collapsing onto the ground. Even their horses were dragged down with them, completely losing all signs of life.
This wasn't a fight; this was a massacre.
Furthermore, it was a method of slaughter that normal people simply could not comprehend: he merely walked past, and all those men died.
It took less than a second.
The gunfire ceased.
The area in front of the finish line had been transformed into an eerie scene, with human and horse corpses mixed together in pools of blood, staining the sand a blinding dark red.
The bodies of the twenty mounted police officers and their horses were physically intact, yet they had all died bleeding from the seven orifices. No one knew what had killed them.
Hashimoto Yoma stood behind the pile of corpses, covered head to toe in the blood and shredded flesh that had previously adhered to him, and he even sniffed the meat.
"Hmm... I vibrated off quite a bit just now, and shook off a lot more, but there's still a little too much left. I actually forgot to clean up earlier. That's not good. Exercise requires hygiene..."
He turned his head, his crimson gaze once again falling upon the completely frozen Sand Man, revealing a smile that looked even more terrifying against the backdrop of bloodstains.
"Do you understand now, runner? This is the power of 'Muscle.' What law, what rules, what damn competition... they are all garbage in the face of absolute power! Only muscle and the saint's corpse are important!
Hmm, I need to go shower now. Do you follow me, or do you wait here to be killed by them? You choose. I still think highly of you, but you want to save your people? With money? Laughable!"
Sand Man stood rooted to the spot, feeling utterly cold.
The hellish scene before him and Yoma's words, filled with temptation and madness, were like a succubus beckoning to him, hypnotically modifying his thoughts and making his heart tremble, seemingly unable to hold onto his original beliefs.
His ideal of protecting his tribe and his plan to buy land with money were thoroughly shattered by absolute power in that moment. For a time, he was filled with an inexplicable reverence for power.
This reverence extended to Hashimoto Yoma, who had displayed unparalleled muscular strength and possessed an incredibly perfect physique. 'Is this great power, is he a god?'
His fists involuntarily clenched tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms until blood seeped out, yet he felt no pain. 'No, that's not right. Gods have never shown us power or helped us, but he... he truly possesses immense strength.'
The lunatic's robust body, terrifying strength, insane behavior, wanton killing, and mysterious method of execution—all of it captivated him.
Watching Hashimoto Yoma turn and walk toward the building, intending to find a place to shower, he couldn't help but follow him immediately, without saying a word. His actions, however, clearly indicated his attitude.
At the same time, he faintly seemed to see a golden figure standing behind Hashimoto Yoma.
'Was that an illusion?'
The figure seemed to smile at him and nod, as if highly satisfied with him as well... The night was like ink, enveloping this land that had just experienced bloodshed and chaos.
The lights of the finishing line Town flickered in the distance, but they could not dispel the fear and stench of death that permeated the air.
For some reason, the two demons—one who had gone on a rampage and the other who acted as his follower—were not brought to justice. Instead, they brazenly stayed and rested here, waiting for the second stage of the race tomorrow.
The race officials even acknowledged their results, recognizing them as the first and second place winners, and the police announced that the initial police operation against them was purely a misunderstanding.
Furthermore, legal professionals came forward to defend them, forcefully twisting black into white, claiming their act of slaughter was merely a minor accidental scrape during the competition that led to a greater accident.
As for the mounted police officers who suddenly dropped dead?
Who saw the opponent attack? He just walked past; they inexplicably dropped dead on their own, alright? How could anyone blame him for that?
Simultaneously, two invitations quietly appeared outside the rooms of Hashimoto Yoma and Sand Man, placed there by unknown hands.
The people in the Town didn't know all the details, only that they were terrified, but life had to go on. They could only endure the fear and remain where they were.
Facing the threat of the murderer, most people kept their doors and windows tightly shut, afraid to go out, hoping only that this living nightmare would leave tomorrow and stop the massacre. Only stray dogs sniffed the blood in the distance, letting out uneasy whines.
Just in this silence and darkness, in a sparse patch of woods near the finishing line, space suddenly began to twist unnaturally.
The air emitted a low hum, and the light wavered as if seen through the surface of rippling water.
Immediately after, a long, narrow rift, its edges shimmering with unstable ghostly light, was forcefully torn open.
A figure stumbled out of it, falling heavily onto the clearing in the woods.
Beneath that black-and-white watermelon haircut, a pair of sharp eyes flashed with streaks of red light. He immediately spotted the small Town, smelled the strong scent of fresh blood, and saw the various signs that hadn't been taken down from the daytime.
"Stage 1, is it? Looks like I arrived just in time."
This figure was none other than Kira Yoshikage.