Chapter 17: Slaughter
"Open fire! Turn him into swiss cheese!"
Boris' hysterical roar shattered the dead silence. For the first time in his long career crawling through the black market, the hardened Russian mob boss felt fear welling up from the depths of his soul.
Not the fear of a gun pointed at him, nor the fear of betrayal. This was the primal terror carved into the genes of prey when they face their natural predator.
Ratatatatat—!
Gilru reacted just a fraction slower, but he also burst out screaming orders.
In an instant, the narrow factory erupted in gunfire. Dozens of automatic rifles spat fire, unleashing a storm of bullets that swept toward the pale man standing at the center of the warehouse.
The air shrieked as the bullets tore through it.
But the bloody spectacle they expected never came.
Right before the first bullet hit him, Orochimaru's body bent backward in a way that defied human anatomy. His waist folded nearly in half as he slid across the floor like a boneless serpent.
The bullets that could've shredded steel only managed to kick up concrete dust and sparks from where he had been standing.
"He dodged that?!" one thug cried out in horror.
He never got another word out.
A dark blur snapped out from Orochimaru's sleeve, leaving a streak through the dim air. This time it was a larger, thicker black snake. It clamped onto the thug's neck with perfect accuracy, its fangs punching straight through his carotid artery.
Blood erupted like a fountain.
And that was only the beginning.
Orochimaru drifted through the hail of bullets like a phantom. He didn't even move faster. He simply twisted, stretched, and slid with an eerie, graceful rhythm.
His neck elongated to impossible lengths, his head tilting at unnatural angles to slip past lethal lines of fire. His arms stretched like rubber, and his fingers split into smaller serpents that wrapped themselves around wrists and weapons.
"Hidden Shadow Snake Hands."
In an instant, more black snakes surged out from under his kimono, from his sleeves, even from his mouth.
Not dozens.
Hundreds. Thousands.
They converged into a jet-black wave, rushing toward the panicked gangsters with a chilling hiss.
"Monster! He's a monster!"
"Stay away! Stay the hell away!"
"Help! Help—"
Screams, pleas, guns clattering to the floor, and the tearing of flesh blended into a hellish symphony.
A burly Russian tried to resist with the rifle in his hand, but a black snake went directly into his barrel. The next instant, the weapon exploded, and a swarm of serpents poured from the man's eyes, ears, and mouth, turning him into a twitching human hive.
Gilru watched the nightmare unfold, frozen in disbelief. He flung his gun aside and bolted toward the exit.
He swore he'd donate all his savings to the church if he survived. He'd pray every single day.
But after only two frantic steps, something seized his ankle.
He looked down with horror. A black snake had already sunk its fangs deep into his leg.
Then a hand burst from the floor in front of him.
A pale, bloodless hand.
It clamped around his other ankle.
Immediately after, Orochimaru's upper body rose from the concrete itself, as though the solid ground were a pool of water and he was surfacing from beneath.
His researcher's smile never faltered. His golden snake eyes studied Gilru's terror as if examining a fascinating specimen.
"Your fear response is stronger than the others. A rather interesting sample."
"N… no…" Gilru managed to force out a single broken syllable.
Orochimaru placed his other hand gently atop Gilru's head.
"Now then… let me see everything you have."
Shhk—
Gilru's body shuddered violently, the light in his eyes quickly fading.
Not far away, Boris had already collapsed into a shaking heap. His bulky frame trembled uncontrollably, and a foul yellow liquid seeped down his pant leg, filling the air with a pungent stench.
He stared at the demon who had "grown" out of the cement floor, muttering broken phrases through quivering lips. "Devil… you're a devil…"
Orochimaru stopped in front of him, gazing down from above. He didn't even spare a glance at the puddle spreading under the man. Instead, he simply lifted his foot.
Crunch!
Boris's head exploded like a stomped watermelon, splattering red and white matter everywhere.
Minutes later, silence returned to the factory.
More than fifty bodies lay twisted across the floor, each one bearing a gruesome death. The air was thick with the nauseating mix of blood and gunpowder.
Orochimaru stood in the midst of the carnage, his wide kimono perfectly clean, not touched by a single drop of blood. He lifted a hand, and the blood-red system panel that only he could see drifted back into view.
[Congratulations Assault Faction Player Orochimaru.]
[You have killed 52 civilians and earned 10,000 Reputation Points.]
"Ten thousand…"
His golden eyes narrowed a fraction.
He looked down at the corpses. Then at the number floating before him. A faint analytical glint flickered within his slit pupils.
More than fifty lives.
And the average return wasn't even two hundred points apiece.
The efficiency was far too low.
He recalled the system's rules, the faction descriptions, and the earlier prompts.
It was clear now.
This so-called "system" wasn't designed to reward mindless killing.
If slaughtering ordinary people yielded massive reputation, the balance of the game would crumble instantly.
Value.
The key was the target's value.
These gang members, scraping the bottom of society, were nothing but ants. Their deaths barely shifted the direction of this world. Naturally, their reputation value was negligible.
"Players"… individuals like him.
Foreign entities. Singularities.
High-value targets.
And beyond that, anyone native to this world who possessed exceptional power or significant influence was likely valuable as well.
"Heh…"
A low chuckle rolled out of Orochimaru's throat as he extended his long tongue to moisten his lips.
"So that's how it works… This world has others like me here already. Good. Very good. This realm is becoming more and more worthy of study."
He abandoned his original idea of wiping out the entirety of Hell's Kitchen to test the upper limit of reputation points.
Such dull, low-efficiency repetition held no appeal for him.
He needed superior specimens.
Orochimaru's figure began to blur, his form sinking slowly into the ground as if it were liquid.
"First, I'll need a suitable laboratory. Then I can search for some interesting… subjects to play with."
His voice echoed faintly through the empty factory. Moments later, he was gone.
Only the blood-soaked slaughterhouse remained, silently testifying to the terror and horror that had unfolded moments ago.