"A Heaven Master… A Heaven Master…"
Alan repeated the words under his breath, head bowed in disbelief. Though his arm was gone and blood poured from the wound, his fear of John far outweighed the pain.
"A Heaven Master?"
Just when Alan thought the nightmare might be over, John chuckled darkly. He raised a finger—and fired off another bolt of lightning.
CRACK!
The lightning shot clean through Andy's shoulder, punching a hole in his chest.
Unlike his father, Andy couldn't withstand the power. He died instantly.
Alan's bloodshot eyes widened in horror, his finger trembling as he pointed at John.
"Y-You're not just a Heaven Master… You're a Martial Artist!"
Panic gripped his heart like a vice.
He had mistaken John's level. Heaven Masters could control physical strength, capable of devastating melee attacks. But Martial Artists? They transcended that. They could manipulate energy—and attack from a distance.
The ability John had just displayed was an exclusive skill only Martial Artists possessed.
John smiled coldly. "Now you finally understand why I didn't need saving?"
He stepped forward, towering over Alan like a god staring down at a defeated mortal.
No matter how powerful Alan had once been, he was nothing before the man who had severed his arm with a single finger.
Alan's entire body trembled.
He had always thought the Kelvin family was the greatest force to fear—but now, it was clear: the real threat was the man standing right in front of him.
'Marcia… your daughter's man is a monster in disguise. How could you be so blind?' he cried out in his mind, desperate and hopeless.
—
Meanwhile, in a black car speeding down a city road, Queenie suddenly snapped out of her dazed state. She blinked, confused to find herself in the back seat.
Then her heart dropped.
"Where's John?! What happened?! I have to go back!"
Marcia, startled by her daughter's panic, quickly asked, "Queenie, what's wrong? Didn't you just agree to leave with us?"
"When did I say that?!" Queenie shouted, eyes wild. "Let me out—I need to find John!"
Nick and Marcia exchanged shocked glances, completely baffled.
But even with their confusion, Marcia spoke firmly. "Queenie, calm down. Going back won't change anything. Alan said he'd teach John a lesson—his fate is already sealed."
"No!" Queenie cried. "I won't leave him! If he dies—I'll die with him!"
Tears welled in her eyes as she turned to her mother.
"Mom, you said before… that I have a great-grandpa who's a Martial Artist, right? Can you ask him to help us? Please—ask him to talk to Alan. Maybe then John will be spared!"
Marcia's expression faltered. Something flickered in her eyes.
The truth was—Queenie didn't know that Marcia had long since severed ties with the Kelvin family. After marrying Nick and moving to New York, she had buried her family background deep in her past.
If it weren't for her daughter, she would have taken that secret to the grave.
Queenie sobbed, grabbing her mother's hand.
"Please, Mom. You're the only one who can save him! I promise—I'll listen to you from now on. I'll be the daughter you want. Just… save him."
"Really?" Marcia's voice softened.
"Yes!" Queenie nodded, eyes brimming with sincerity.
Nick and Marcia glanced at each other. Even though they suspected it might be too late—John could already be dead—they couldn't ignore their daughter's plea.
They turned the car around.
—
At that moment, back at the Brown family villa…
Alton and Emily arrived at the same time, both of them out of breath as they rushed to the entrance.
Before they could step inside, they stopped in their tracks.
John was walking out of the house—calm, composed, blood-splattered, but completely unscathed.
"John!" Emily cried, running to him in relief. "You're okay?!"
She grabbed his shoulders, looking him over, frantic for signs of injury.
"I'm fine," John said with a smile. "This isn't my blood."
Emily let out a breath of relief, though her brow was furrowed. He was drenched in red—but he wasn't even scratched.
She had sprinted all the way here. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead damp with sweat. Strands of black hair clung to her skin.
John's eyes wandered—just briefly—down to her chest.
Her bra was pink.
He quickly looked away, trying to be a gentleman.
As long as she didn't notice, he figured, it still counted.
"John!" Emily pouted, catching his glance. "Where are you looking? You're so naughty!"
Her cheeks flushed even redder, but there was no anger in her voice. On the contrary, she seemed… pleased.
He likes me, doesn't he? she thought, heart fluttering.
But Alton had a different reaction.
He had caught John's earlier words: "It's not my blood."
A chill ran down his spine.
"It was Alan's blood… wasn't it?"
Alton stepped past them into the hall—and what he saw left him speechless.
The room was a battlefield.
Furniture was shattered, blood splattered across the floor. Dozens of bodyguards lay groaning and broken.
Andy's corpse lay nearby, a hole through his chest.
And then—
Alton saw Alan.
Kneeling.
Mumbling incoherently, eyes vacant, as though speaking to a ghost.
One of his arms was missing.
Alton stood frozen in the doorway, stunned.
Alan—the king of New York's underworld—was on his knees, defeated.
And John?
He was still standing.