As Marcia's daughter, Queenie was just as stubborn. Once she made a decision, it was nearly impossible to change her mind.
She knew that if she left John behind, he would be in danger.
Even though staying wouldn't change the outcome, she refused to abandon him. She would face whatever came—with him.
John sighed. "Queenie, you're becoming more and more disobedient."
Then, true to his earlier threat, he reached out and gave her a firm spank.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
It stung badly.
But Queenie didn't flinch. She stared at him defiantly, her eyes full of determination. She wasn't backing down.
Nick and Marcia looked on, a mix of worry and anger on their faces.
They feared Alan might change his mind if Queenie insisted on staying. And John spanking their daughter—especially in front of everyone—only added fuel to their outrage.
At that moment, Alan had already made up his mind—he would sever John's hands.
His eyes burned with jealousy. John had touched the woman he desired. Alan's son, Andy, glared at John with similar rage. Both wanted to see his hands gone.
John sighed again as he noticed Queenie still hadn't left.
With a bitter smile, he leaned close to her ear and whispered something.
"I'll take care of everything. Just trust me—go."
As he spoke, he gently cast a spell on her to calm her spirit.
This time, Queenie didn't resist. Though confusion flickered in her eyes, she slowly nodded.
Nick and Marcia were relieved, thinking Queenie had finally come to her senses.
Marcia quickly grabbed her daughter's hand and began pulling her toward the exit. Before leaving, she cast a final sneer at John and said coldly, "My advice—apologize. Maybe they'll spare your life."
Then she turned and left.
For a brief moment, silence filled the hall.
Alan sank into his armchair like a king on a throne, legs crossed, tapping his fingers on the armrest. He looked at John as though he were nothing more than prey.
"Any last words?" he asked, his voice low but filled with menace.
Even in old age, Alan's strength as a martial artist was clear. He had ruled the State of New York for over 20 years. All major factions deferred to him out of fear and respect.
Everyone feared Alan.
And Alan believed John would be no different. Surely, this young man would kneel and beg for mercy.
But instead, John gave him a cheeky smile and said calmly, "Nah. No last words. How about you, old man?"
"You insolent brat!" Andy exploded. "Do you have any idea what it means to stand before a martial artist?"
Alan raised a hand to silence his son, his gaze never leaving John.
"Young man, how dare you speak to me like that?"
John didn't answer.
Alan leaned forward, voice cold and cutting. "Arrogance will get you killed. No one is coming to save you. Beg now, or suffer."
A dark aura began to ripple from Alan's body like an invisible storm. His eyes were deep and suffocating, as though they could swallow a man whole.
But John only smiled.
"Why would I need someone to save me," he said, "when I can save myself?"
"What?"
Alan and Andy blinked, then burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! Are you serious?!" Andy mocked. "Do you really think you can take on my father? You think some cheap tricks are enough?"
Alan sneered, dismissive. John might be skilled—but compared to a real martial artist? He was nothing.
But then—
"Is that funny?" John said suddenly, his smile fading.
The laughter stopped.
Alan's eyes narrowed.
"You really are ignorant," Alan growled. "Now I understand why Marcia despises you. You have no respect. And now—"
BOOM!
The room grew cold. Alan's killing intent exploded outward like a wave of darkness. Even Andy took a step back, his heart pounding.
The shadow of death loomed in the hall.
But then—John laughed.
"Alan," he said coolly, "do you know why I sent Queenie away?"
He took a step forward.
"It's because I didn't want her to see your blood."
BOOM! BOOM!
The space around John shimmered—like the very air was bending.
Alan's expression twisted.
What… what is this pressure?
Suddenly, his body went cold.
"You… you're a martial artist!"
Terror gripped Alan's face. Andy, watching, turned pale—and then he wet himself in sheer panic.
Now they were the ones afraid.
Alan stumbled back.
"W-Who… who are you really?"
"A martial artist?" John repeated with a smirk.
He slowly raised one hand, pointing a single finger at Alan.
CRACK!
A bolt of lightning shot from John's fingertip—slicing through the air like divine judgment.
Swoosh!
Alan's arm was severed in an instant.
"Aaaaaah—!"
Alan collapsed to his knees, screaming in agony.
Blood sprayed across the marble floor. His severed arm landed several feet away, twitching.
Andy had already fainted, crumpled on the ground, trembling.
John stood over them, calm and unshaken.
He had used only one finger.