In the Marvel Universe: I can summon items from all dimensions.

Chapter 116 When in doubt, sell your blood.

"Damn it, if you're so good, why don't you do it yourself?"

Suppressing the urge to curse, the soldier swallowed hard.

Intuitively, he thought the best solution was to resolve the issue without firing a shot, but since he was already standing there and had even received the order, as a soldier, he naturally had no right to object.

"It seems the request for instructions didn't go very well."

Mason, who had graciously watched the whole thing unfold, smiled with a hint of mockery: "Well then, the next step should be the part where classical physics comes into play—I've never experienced what it feels like to be attacked by modern military forces, so let's give it a try."

After saying that, he snapped his fingers again, and with the elegant grace of a magician, he conjured up a pistol and raised his hand to fire!

Bang! Bang! Bang bang bang bang bang!

Before Mason could even slip his index finger into the trigger ring, a soldier fired a shot at him with a classic old M4A1. Regardless of whether this was some kind of stress response or if he had received orders to "kill the target as soon as he shows any aggression," after the first shot, more soldiers pulled the trigger at Mason. The explosions were like firecrackers, and Mason's body swayed as if he were dancing.

"That's really something!"

Mason muttered to himself, then increased the power level of the Thor's Orb.

Hundreds of bullets either pierced his body or remained inside—but neither mattered.

With unlimited light energy, his regeneration speed reached an absurd level. As long as he concentrated, injuries such as limb mutilation could be repaired in two seconds, and damage from a mere rifle could be completely dealt with in the blink of an eye. Bullets stuck in his body were squeezed out by his muscles and bones and sputtered out—to be honest, it was quite frightening.

At first, the intense onslaught caused him a needle-like pain, but as the number of hits exceeded three digits, the pain diminished at an astonishing rate. However, it did not disappear completely; instead, it transformed into a sensation similar to being casually poked by a finger, indicating to Mason that "this area has been attacked."

So that's how it is. There's another thing—he was a little worried that the buff might stack up too much and cause him to lose his sense of touch, but now it seems there's no need to worry.

The pitch-black night can conceal many things, such as flying flesh and blood, and fragments of organs that have been forcibly blasted out of the body. The good news is that the Thor's Orb, the stack memory, and the storage ring are all in good condition. And despite the barrage of comments, Mason's movements, though resembling a straw in the wind, have not collapsed.

After all, assault rifles can't tear a human body to pieces instantly like heavy machine guns, which gives Mason some room to maneuver.

As a result, after emptying all of his dozen or so magazines, Mason didn't retreat a single step—of course, the blood and gore scattered all over the ground and his clothes, now resembling a trendy beggar's outfit, were another matter entirely.

"He doesn't even have the strength to hit someone, and he calls himself an American soldier?"

Under the soldiers' terrified gazes, Mason's lips curled into a sinister smile—to avoid being interrupted halfway through his act, he prioritized the regeneration of his head, neck, and lungs before slowly speaking, "So, next—shouldn't it be my turn to retaliate?"

After making such a bold statement, shouldn't the next step be to strike hard and wipe out all these American soldiers with a single laser?

That's obviously not an option.

The reason is simple—no matter what, it was Mei who started this whole thing first.

As the saying goes, the one who starts a fight is the one who's shameful. Although Mason doesn't consider himself a good person, he wouldn't do something like tricking a group of people he has no grudges against into coming here to kill them. Wouldn't that be too embarrassing if word got out? It would be ridiculous if we looked at the stats and found out that his K/D ratio was higher than Karasuma Renya's.

This guy is a righteous force hired by a local bigwig, you know. He has some shame.

As human beings, we need some code of conduct. These soldiers are basically extras that I hired from other employers. It's one thing not to pay them, but I can't just sneer and say something like "You have met your demise" and then kill them all, can I?

Only a psychopath would do that kind of thing.

Of course, if we're judging him by the standards of a righteous partner, he's definitely red with evil in his current state.

Alright, now that we've said so much, it's time to reveal Mason's purpose in deliberately coming out to take a bullet.

The main purpose is to show off one's power. After all, people do things like building towers online every day, and there are only a few like Mason. If he doesn't perform like this, how can he explain his danger to those in high positions of power, and how can he attract the attention of various forces?

Secondly, it was to further test his resilience. Mason now knew that he had no physical weaknesses, including his brain. No matter which part of his body was damaged, he could regenerate quickly. However, he had not yet figured out the boundaries and limits of this power. There were still many tests to be done. He originally wanted to ask Paracelsus to make a few alchemical puppets as sparring partners, but since there were laborers rushing to his door, he might as well play with them.

Of course, there is also a very small, but perhaps most important, reason.

He wanted to show off.

How cool it is to effortlessly navigate through a hail of bullets!

If I don't take advantage of such a great opportunity to show off, wouldn't it be a waste of all my skills?

Back when he saw a certain Mr. Accardo, who wished to remain anonymous, sell a few vials of blood when in doubt, and then leisurely beat his opponent, Mason thought that this behavior was incredibly fashionable. Now that he had the chance to do the same thing, how could he miss it?

Why don't you use the frame? Why don't you show off?

He was satisfied, but for the soldiers present, and for others watching the battle through the cameras on the soldiers' bodies, the scene was nothing short of a nightmare.

What happened to the rule that carbon-based life forms are incapable of fighting against modern weaponry? What is this thing?

Could this person truly possess some kind of immortality? Or is he not even human at all?

After obtaining Mason's information, the Americans consulted some magicians. Most of those consulted believed that there was no such thing as immortality. Even supernatural beings like demons would enter a long dormant period after suffering a fatal injury. However, magic that could give a person multiple lives did exist. The so-called "regeneration and healing immediately after being torn apart" was mostly just that. The solution to this was simple: just destroy all his extra lives.

Modern military power is terrifying. Even if a magician has nine lives like a cat, it's just a matter of using a few more bullets. In comparison, the spatial abilities this man has demonstrated are more worthy of vigilance. If he can not only conjure objects out of thin air but also perform spatial jumps, it will be extremely troublesome.

—This is the conclusion reached by the analysts behind the soldiers.

Before setting off, the team leader had agreed with these opinions, but now he just wanted to curse.

The figure that stood firm against the barrage of rifle bullets gradually transformed in his eyes into a demonic figure.

No, even if it were a demon, it probably wouldn't have such terrifying abilities, right?

Why don't the idiots in charge of thinking make some contingency plans based on the assumption that "the target might actually be immortal"?

What should we do now?

"Back up! Back up!"

The soldiers' leader shouted, "Make way! Alternate fire! Don't give him any room to move!"

Shocked by the incredible scene, the soldiers carried out their superiors' orders, but some deviations and disorganizations occurred. Of course, this is normal; most people in modern society have absolute trust in the lethality of firearms. Precisely because of this, the fear brought about by an individual who is not afraid of bullets is particularly difficult to overcome.

Especially when you see the other person walking slowly toward you with a very confident posture.

The fear that surged up their spines was intensifying, causing the soldiers' formation to gradually break down. If it weren't for the kinetic energy of the bullets slowing Mason down when he was hit, some of them probably wouldn't have been able to withstand the pressure.

"Bullet—I think I understand what's going on."

Mason maintained his stance of slowly advancing with his arms outstretched, while secretly assessing his own situation.

Very good, awesome.

In terms of efficiency, as long as there is enough energy, his regenerative ability is probably even superior to Logan's. However, when Logan is beaten to the point of death, he can shout about friendship and bonds to forcefully activate his self-healing factor, which is commonly known as "going into overdrive." He himself cannot do this. Once his energy is depleted, he is no different from an ordinary person.

The abilities and characteristics don't seem like those of a positive character at all.

Logically speaking, I should be the kind of being burdened with a great mission (although I don't know exactly what that mission is) with the goal of saving the world, right?

But all in all, thanks to the efforts of these soldiers, he gained a deeper understanding of his own abilities.

Next, it's time to challenge something even more extreme—like being smashed to pieces, crushed into mincemeat, burned, or corroded—it's not that he has any fanatical interest in torturing himself, but what can he do when his own abilities are inherently so extreme? He can't exactly go to the Celestials to return him, can he?

Alas—the kind-hearted Mason of the past is gone forever. Is becoming stronger and becoming a monster actually similar concepts?

He sighed inwardly and continued on his way.

The dozen or so soldiers were divided into two groups, staggering their reloading and preparation time, and kept pulling the trigger on Mason without stopping. This offensive could last for at least five minutes before they ran out of bullets or the barrels overheated, and Mason would indeed be under hard control in this situation.

After all, he doesn't have a super body. No matter how strong he becomes, he still has to obey Newton's divine power. Don't be fooled by his cool pose now. His slow movement speed is not an act. With so many peanuts hitting him every second, it's difficult for him to even stand still. It's impossible for him to rush out and throw punches.

But he wasn't a martial arts master to begin with, and he couldn't even execute a basic punch properly, so not being able to shorten the distance wasn't a problem, since he had other ways to solve the problem anyway.

For example—like this.

"Hmm—what should we call this move?"

Mason pursed his lips, frowned, and then immediately thought of a term: "Although it doesn't have a fist, let's just call it the Solar Fist."

The next instant, a burst of intense golden light exploded from his body!

After knocking the cyborg out of its stun, he had gained experience in this operation—stimulating the light energy within his body to transform himself into a luminous being.

The blinding light, which would make it impossible for the soldiers to see for a short time even with their eyes closed, caught them off guard. The intensity of the barrage of bullets immediately decreased. Taking advantage of this moment, Mason took out the doll-shaped grenade he had just drawn, casually removed the pull ring, and instead of throwing it immediately, let it explode in his hand.

Then, an ugly doll appeared in a cloud of smoke—and immediately set its sights on Mason.

Because this is important, I have to repeat it—Chucky is a horror movie villain whose strength lies in embarrassing himself. Normally, as long as he is not given the opportunity to use voodoo, a normal adult male can beat him up with just a folding chair as a weapon.

Incidentally, I'm bringing this up again now because Mason is trying to make amends for himself.

The reason is simple: after Mason threw this children's toy, which was less than half a meter long, at the soldiers, it was hit by a burst of bullets before it even hit the ground, instantly tearing it into countless flying plastic fragments.

A scream followed, and that was Chucky's greatest legacy to the world.

It seems this thing didn't have any regeneration capabilities. After being instantly killed, it turned into a wisp of black smoke and dissipated into the night.

It's completely useless!

So let's emphasize just how useless this guy is, to salvage that inexplicable expectation I had a moment ago.

Mason:

'

It's supposed to be a somewhat popular horror monster, so how come it's so disappointing?

No, if these soldiers realize what's going on, all that effort I put into building up this image will be ruined. Mason made a quick and decisive decision.

"My test is finished, let's get started—"

He lowered his voice and said this, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers in a serious manner.

The soldiers, blinded by the bright light, naturally didn't hear what he said. Only Paracelsus, inside the workshop, caught the words through the detection magic set up around the workshop.