radicalducati Chapter 129 Announces Participation in the Election
Chapter 129 Announces Participation in the Election
Chapter 129 Announces Participation in the Election
Rumble!!!
A deep, rumbling engine roared down from the rooftop opposite the police station.
The sound didn't resemble the exhaust of a regular motorcycle.
It was more like some kind of magma that had been suppressed deep in the earth's crust, finally finding an outlet, and bursting out from the edge of the ten-story building's rooftop, enveloped in high temperature and vibration.
Everyone looked up at the same time.
A police motorcycle took off from the rooftop.
The car body was completely enveloped in dark red flames in mid-air.
The tires, engine, exhaust pipe, handlebars—every part was burning.
The flames weren't the kind of light, floating textures used in post-production special effects.
As it fell, it tore through the air, leaving a trail of crimson fire that stretched from the rooftop to the ground.
The scene left everyone stunned, their minds blank, before they finally realized what they had seen.
"Ah! What is that?!" Screams erupted from the crowd.
Several reporters standing in the back row instinctively stepped back, bumping their heads into other people's cameras.
But none of the photographers carrying cameras moved.
My fingers gripped the camera body so tightly they turned white, and the lens steadily followed the ball of flame that crashed down from the sky.
This is not the time to run away; I may never capture a scene like this again in my lifetime.
The burning motorcycle crashed onto the concrete ground in front of the Manhattan police station.
The front wheels touched the ground first, the shock absorbers were pressed to the bottom, the whole car sank down, and then came to a steady stop, leaving a fiery ring on the ground.
The person riding the bicycle fell off.
He was wearing the special operations uniform of the Hellsword Squad, with the white skull and sword on his chest flickering in the flames.
But his own head—that head had no flesh left.
The bones were exposed, and there was only darkness left in the eye sockets.
His jaw opened slightly, and flames surged out from every crevice between his teeth, in his nasal cavity, and on his cheekbones.
A burning skull.
"That symbol is the Sword of Hell!"
"But his head—is that a special effect? It is, right?!"
"Bullshit! If special effects could be this good, why would I be a cameraman?"
"Heatwave—can't you feel it! That heatwave is real!"
The reporters standing in the front row felt it more directly than anyone else.
The scorching heat that hit you couldn't be simulated in the video.
Their faces were dried out by the heat, their eyelashes seemed to curl, and the fine hairs on their skin curled slightly in the high temperature.
The flames on the skeleton in front of us are something that no visual effects or projection equipment can achieve.
After a brief period of chaos, the scene suddenly fell into a deathly silence.
All the reporters, cameramen, and residents peering out of their windows on the opposite rooftop stared intently at the flaming skull standing in front of the police station.
No one spoke, no one pressed the shutter, and even their breathing seemed to be suppressed by something.
Li En walked to the flaming skeleton and stood still.
He turned to the side and pointed to the still-burning white skull beside him.
A faint smile played on his lips, and his tone was no different from when he introduced new colleagues in the police station corridor.
"This is Frank Castle, the captain of the first squad of Hellsword."
"What? He's Frank?"
"That Punisher? How could that be—I greeted him on the street yesterday and bought him a beer!"
"Last week Frank was teaching a bunch of thugs a lesson on Eighth Avenue, when did he become like this?"
Hellsword's patrol routes in Manhattan are public knowledge.
Every day at the same time, three black Hummer SUVs shuttle back and forth along the three lines of downtown, midtown, and uptown, never changing shifts and never missing a day.
Frank Castle's face is more recognizable on Hell's Kitchen Street than any celebrity.
Some people shared a table with him in front of the food truck, and some people bought him drinks at the bar.
Some people witnessed him dragging an armed robber out of a convenience store with one hand, throwing him onto the sidewalk, and then shooting him in the thigh.
But now, this tough policeman that everyone knows has been transformed into a skeleton engulfed in flames.
Frank's jaws moved, making a few crisp clicking sounds, like cracked bone fragments rubbing against each other.
A deep, ethereal voice squeezed out from between his teeth.
"Li En, hurry up and finish this. This guy keeps making noise, it's annoying."
Frank's voice contained another layer of vocal nuance.
A sharper, colder tone overlapped with his original deep voice, as if two people were using the same vocal cords at the same time.
Li En knew what was going on; the spirit of vengeance was causing trouble.
According to that thing's standards, even accidentally stepping on and killing a bird is considered a sin, and the soul should go to hell.
Now, there are at least several hundred reporters and onlookers standing in front of Frank.
In the eyes of the spirit of vengeance, each of these people probably bears the indelible mark of sin.
It wants to drag everyone down with it.
Lee En ignored the argument raging inside Frank's body.
He took a step forward, standing between the reporters and the fiery skull, slightly opening his arms, clenching his right fist, and raising his voice.
"How many people did these scumbags torture? How many evil deeds did they commit in their lives?"
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping from the front row to the back.
"I don't know if God can forgive them and let them go to heaven after they die."
"but----"
Lee turned around and faced Frank.
His expression was extremely serious, with not a trace of mockery in his eyes.
Whether God forgives them or not is God's business.
"And Frank the Punisher and I are responsible for sending them to hell."
Send them to hell.
These words, which had already been bombarded by dark creatures, hell, aliens, and Ghost Riders, instantly revived the minds of the crowd.
Knowing that hell exists is one thing.
It's also a matter of discovering that aliens have actually visited Earth.
It's another matter entirely when you see those so-called Hollywood stars, business tycoons, and politicians doing things that even animals wouldn't do.
In fact, many people had long suspected this and often discussed it in bars.
Those who stand at the top of the pyramid are often incredibly corrupt in private.
They simply lack evidence, or rather, they lack someone willing to present the evidence to everyone.
But sending their souls to hell is a completely different matter.
If it were truly possible to send their souls to hell, then—
Everyone held their breath at the same time.
Li Enchao nodded to Frank.
Frank took a step, his boots leaving a charred mark on the concrete floor with each step.
He walked to the first head, the head of the Hollywood star, bent down, stretched out his hand wrapped in flames, and with his five fingers gripping the sides of the head, lifted it off the wooden board.
He brought the skull face close to the bloodless head, and two dark blue lights appeared deep in the eye sockets.
The light grew brighter and deeper, as if something was reading through those two orbs of light, retrieving all the memories that had been hidden from this person's life.
The eye of judgment.
One of the special abilities of the Spirit of Vengeance.
Every crime committed by Hollywood stars.
From childhood to death, from the first time he laid hands on an intern on set.
Until the last party I attended on a private island.
Scene after scene flooded into Frank's mind.
This scene was like a movie playing in Frank's mind, and he had no choice but to watch it.
No wonder the former Ghost Rider wanted to break free from the Spirit of Vengeance. Seeing the sins of humanity every day, it's a testament to his strong will that he didn't go insane.
But Frank acted as if nothing had happened and just watched it quietly.
A moment later, Frank slightly opened his jaw, and that ethereal voice, enveloping two vocal parts, rang out again.
"You are guilty."
The flames in his hand suddenly surged, instantly engulfing the entire head.
A piercing wail echoed from within the flames.
The Hollywood star's voice, distorted by the high temperature, stretched into a sound track that went from high to low and from near to far.
It lingered in the sky above the police station, growing thinner and thinner, farther and farther away, until it finally disappeared beneath the gray-white clouds.
Frank released his grip, and the head had turned into a small clump of grayish-white powder, which fell softly from between his fingers.
He didn't stop.
The second head was the chairman of that pharmaceutical company.
The Eye of Judgment shone again, the flames surged once more, and another scream pierced the sky.
The third one is a member of Congress.
The fourth is a public welfare leader.
He looked at them one by one, lifting each head up and bringing it close to his eyes.
They read through all the sins of their lives with those two dark blue lights, and then came to the same conclusion.
"You are guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
Flames leaped higher and higher, accompanied by wails that echoed and reverberated across the sky.
In fact, after these guys died, their souls had already mostly dissipated.
This is the sound system that Li En had Barron set up in advance, and the sound effects that Jarvis synthesized.
Burning the head alone is not as effective as accompanied by screams.
As the last head turned to dust between his fingers, Frank straightened up and turned around.
Head towards the exhibition mountain made up of werewolf remains, vampire heads, and shattered shells of hellish imps.
He stretched out his right hand, fingers spread, aimed at the small hill that was still emitting a putrid smell, and pressed his palm down.
Flames erupted from his palm, engulfing the entire pile of wreckage.
The limbs of the dark creature twisted and melted in the flames, turning into charred ashes in an instant.
After doing all this, Frank raised his right hand and clasped his still-burning head between his fingers.
He used his fingertips and knuckles to move from his forehead down his palm, and the flames gradually died out in his hands, the white bones being covered by flesh and blood again.
The skin spread down from the hairline, covering the bare cheekbones, filling in the eye sockets, and sealing the gaps between the teeth.
A moment later, he lowered his hand, revealing the face of that tough, resolute man that everyone recognized.
He turned around, walked to Li En's side, took a step back, and stood still.
With his hands behind his back, his gaze swept across everyone in the audience with lightning speed.
There was a two-second silence.
Then cheers erupted from the surrounding streets.
"They really do go to hell! Those guys really got sent to hell!"
"Serves him right! That beast deserves to go to hell!"
"Long live the Sword of Hell!!"
"Sword of Hell! Sword of Hell!"
The roar of mountains and the sound of waves surged in from all directions.
On the rooftop across the street, residents leaned half their bodies out of the windows, waving their fists and shouting along.
Someone stuck their mop handle out of the window frame, tied a red cloth to the end, and waved it frantically like a flag.
In the live television broadcast, the patrons in the pub all stood up and raised their glasses.
Workers in the factory workshop took off their safety helmets and threw them into the air.
Strangers on the street patted each other on the shoulder, pointed at the images on the TV screens in shop windows, and shouted themselves hoarse without stopping.
In stark contrast to their ecstasy were the expressions on the faces of others.
In the top-floor offices of various high-rise buildings in New York, people are frantically dialing phone numbers.
He tapped the screen again and again, and with each busy tone from the receiver, the color drained from his face.
They contacted each other, trying to come up with a solution to suppress the matter as quickly as possible.
But every time the call connected, all I heard was the same silence.
At the entrance of the Manhattan Police Department, Li En stood quietly on the podium.
He waited for the cheers to slowly subside from their peak, until everyone had vented their emotions.
Only when the faces that had turned red with excitement began to return to their normal color did he walk back to the center of the podium.
This time, he neither braced himself against the edge of the table nor put his hands in his pockets.
He put his hands behind his back, straightened his back, and opened his shoulders completely.
His expression became extremely serious, but his tone returned to the calm it usually had during routine patrols.
"I, Lee En, am running for mayor of New York City."
He paused for a moment, and all the camera shutters fell silent at that instant.
Please vote for me.
"I will lead the Sword of Hell and send those damned bastards—all of them—to hell."
The moment the words left his mouth, the entire street erupted in chaos.
The reporters' expressions changed simultaneously.
Some people froze in mid-air as they pulled their phones out of their pockets, while others opened their mouths as if to ask something.
But he found that his voice was completely swallowed up by the deafening cheers of the crowd around him.
Upon hearing this declaration, the audience on the surrounding streets, rooftops, and in front of their televisions strained their voices to the highest level.
The entire city, from the lowest drainpipes to the highest neon lights, emits the same sound simultaneously.
"Hell's Sword!"
Ben Yurik was the first to break through the crowd of reporters.
He didn't scream along with the others, nor did he make any on-the-spot announcements to the camera.
He strode up the steps in two quick steps, handed the microphone to Li En with both hands, and bowed cleanly and crisply.
His eyes were bloodshot when he straightened up, but his voice was incredibly steady.
"Officer Li En! You just announced your candidacy for mayor. What is your campaign slogan?"
Li En took the microphone and smiled.
He raised his right fist, clenched his fingers, and held it steadily in mid-air.
"To make people safer."
"To make people happier."
"Make the people great."
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