I revived the Demonic Sect in North America

Chapter 157 Reunion

The rest of the people were stunned by this sudden, ruthless, and efficient counterattack.

Their faces showed expressions of astonishment.

The approaching figures involuntarily slowed their pace.

DeShawn was both shocked and furious, his heart pounding like a drum.

He didn't expect Li Ang to be so fierce in street combat.

Seeing that his cousin's men were intimidated, he suddenly pulled out a dark Glock 19 pistol from his back waist.

The gun gleamed coldly in the dim light.

But his hand was shaking, and he didn't dare to fire directly.

He simply pointed his gun at Li Ang and roared, his voice trembling with fear, "Damn it! Yellow-skinned monkey, don't move! Everyone else, grab your weapons! Attack him! Cripple him! Surround him! Hold him down!"

Don't let him move again!

The remaining five men exchanged glances, let out a shout to bolster their courage, and charged forward wielding baseball bats, steel pipes, and daggers.

They attempted to overwhelm Li Ang by virtue of their numerical advantage.

A cold glint flashed in Li Ang's eyes. Instead of retreating, he advanced and deliberately crashed into the crowd!

He twirled the pipe wrench he had seized from the bald man in his hand and used it as a handy short stick.

The Meteor Butterfly Step was unleashed.

His movements were elusive and his footwork unpredictable.

Navigating the narrow street spaces and chaotic crowds with ease.

Pipe wrenches were used to smash or poke the pipes.

Each strike was accompanied by a dull thud, a tooth-grinding crack of bones breaking, and a piercing scream from the one struck.

Li Ang held nothing back anymore.

These people were armed, and their purpose was clearly kidnapping.

This is a life-or-death situation, and there is no room for leniency.

A thug with a fierce face tried to grab Li Ang from the side around the waist, but was elbowed by him when he turned around.

The elbow struck his temple like a hammer.

The thug didn't even utter a sound, rolled his eyes, and fainted on the spot, collapsing to the ground.

Another person swung an aluminum baseball bat from behind, trying to hit him on the back of the head.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, he ducked and slid, narrowly dodging the attack.

The baseball bat swished past his scalp, sending a cool breeze through the air.

Li Ang thrust the pipe wrench backward, striking the opponent squarely in the popliteal fossa behind his knee.

Click!

The sickening cracking sound of bones breaking was clearly audible.

The thug let out a pig-like scream and collapsed to the ground clutching his leg, which was bent at an odd angle.

He was in so much pain that he rolled on the ground and couldn't get up anymore.

Li Ang is like a slippery eel, and also like a cold and efficient fighting machine.

He skillfully evaded most of the attacks while surrounded by five or six people.

Each counterattack struck at the heart of the matter, swiftly and effectively reducing the enemy's manpower.

Although the opposing team had a large number of members, they were unable to maneuver effectively on the narrow street, and instead hindered each other.

Li Ang used the environment and his ghostly footwork to divide and lure them into pieces, defeating them one by one.

His movements were concise and sharp, without any unnecessary frills.

But each strike can render an opponent incapacitated, leaving them groaning on the ground.

A thug, whose ribs had been broken by Li Ang's kick, was coughing up blood and drooling on the ground.

His eyes were filled with fear and despair.

He yelled hoarsely at DeSean, "DeSean! Shoot! Shoot! What the hell are you waiting for?!"

There were eight of them, and they were armed, yet they were beaten up like this by a kid who was unarmed!

DeShawn was covered in sweat, and his arms were shaking even more violently.

His index finger was on the trigger guard, and his face was deathly pale.

Li Ang moved too fast and always cleverly used his companions' bodies as cover.

DeShawn couldn't aim at all.

Just as his eyes hardened, blood rushed to his head, and he was about to pull the trigger without hesitation...

Li Ang suddenly hurled the pipe wrench, stained with blood and oil, at his face with all his might!

The pipe wrench flew in with a whooshing spin, leaving a deadly shadow in the beam of the car headlights!

DeShawn was terrified, his mind went completely blank.

His survival instinct made him instinctively cover his head and fall to the side in a disheveled state.

The gun barrel also tilted slightly.

That gap of less than a second was enough for Li Ang!

He pushed off with his feet, channeling his inner energy into his legs, causing the asphalt road beneath his feet to seem to slightly dent.

He shot out like a cannonball, his speed increasing to its maximum in an instant.

Taking three steps at a time, his figure was almost a blurry line in the dim light.

In the blink of an eye, he covered several meters and cut in front of DeShawn.

His right hand shot out like an iron clamp, gripping DeShawn's right wrist, which was holding the gun.

He dug his thumb deep into the gap between the wrist bones and twisted it forcefully!

"Aaaaaah—!"

'

DeShawn felt like his wrist bones were about to shatter.

The excruciating pain made his vision blur, and his fingers involuntarily loosened.

The pistol fell downwards.

Li Ang's left hand shot out like lightning, fingers spread wide, and he caught the falling pistol steadily in mid-air.

It feels cold and heavy in hand, just like the familiar Glock 19.

Without any hesitation, Li Ang gripped the gun, skillfully flicked the safety with his thumb, turned around, raised his arm, and aimed.

The movements were executed in one fluid motion, so smooth it was breathtaking.

To onlookers, the whole process seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.

"Don't move."

Li Ang's cold, steady voice rang out, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

The dark muzzle of the gun was steadily pointed at the last two thugs who were still standing.

One of the men was holding a steel pipe, and the other was holding a dagger.

They stood frozen in place, their faces ashen, cold sweat pouring down their temples.

The weapon in his hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Lifting it is not an option, nor is putting it down.

Apart from suppressed groans and heavy, labored breathing, the streets were deathly silent.

The stench of blood began to fill the air.

Six people were lying haphazardly on the ground.

Some were curled up groaning, while others remained silent, their fate unknown.

The car headlights were still on, illuminating the small battlefield like a stage.

DeShawn clutched his wrist, which was twisted and throbbing with excruciating pain, and slumped against the corner of the wall, his back against the cold brick wall.

They stared in utter terror at Li Ang, who stood there like a god of death, gun in hand.

His lips trembled, and he couldn't utter a single word.

Li Ang pointed the gun at the last two terrified thugs.

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable command: "Get out."

The two men snapped out of their daze and dared not resist or hesitate in the slightest.

Scrambling and scrambling, Li Ang ran up to DeShawn, crouched down, and pressed the muzzle of his gun against DeShawn's sweat-drenched, cold, sticky forehead: "You, drive. Take me to see your boss. Don't try anything funny, my patience is running out."

He paused, then added, "You should know that I can make you unable to drive or see anyone again in a second."

DeShawn's face turned ashen; he was utterly desperate.

This kid isn't even human!

It's a monster!

It's the devil!

He shakily used his left hand to support himself and barely managed to get up.

He walked to the driver's seat like a walking corpse.

My legs felt weak with every step I took.

Li Ang opened the back door and got in.

The gun barrel remained pointed at DeShawn's back through the seat back, seemingly imperceptibly.

"Drive. To your hideout. No detours, no tricks."

The car started, the engine let out a reluctant roar, and slowly began to move, bumping along as it drove into the deep night.

Li Ang quickly checked the gun in his hand.

Glock 19, magazine full, 15 rounds.

He silently adjusted his breathing.

The brief but intense fight just now may have seemed easy, but it actually took a lot of physical and mental energy.

The true energy was also slightly depleted.

He needs to regain his composure as soon as possible and allow his vital energy to return to his dantian.

The next gang leader we'll face is the real ruthless one.

Moreover, they are likely armed, have more manpower, and are in a more complex environment.

The car veered and twisted around under DeShawn's distracted driving.

They deliberately chose to walk on secluded paths with no streetlights and few pedestrians.

They gradually drove away from the town area and headed towards the edge of the desolate industrial zone on the outskirts.

The scenery outside the window grew darker and more desolate, leaving only a messy and dilapidated area illuminated by the car headlights.

Finally, the car bumped along through a wasteland overgrown with weeds, crushing bricks and garbage.

We stopped in front of an old car repair shop that was partially surrounded by a tall, rusty iron wall.

The factory buildings were very tall, but dilapidated.

The red brick walls were peeling, and several tall windows were nailed shut with crooked wooden planks.

Only through a crack in a small, rusty iron door on the side, a dim, flickering light shone, as if it might go out at any moment.

Like a one-eyed beast lurking in the darkness, stalking its prey with cunning.

The air was thick with a nauseating mix of smells: engine oil, rust, rotting garbage, and some kind of chemical.

"We're here, we're here—this is it."

DeShawn stopped the car, his voice dry.

He dared not turn around; his body was stiff.

"Get down. You go first."

Li Ang gave the order and got out of the car himself.

The shoes made a soft rustling sound as they stepped on the soft mud and gravel.

The pistol was hidden in the shadows beside him, but the muzzle remained locked on DeShawn's back.

The two got off the bus together.

The small iron door on the side of the repair shop creaked open and was pulled open a crack from the inside.

A young man with dyed blond hair poked his head out, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his mouth, his eyes squinting.

Seeing DeShawn and Li Ang behind him, he curled his lip, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and said in a flippant tone, "DeShawn? Why are you so slow? The boss is inside, getting impatient. Come on in, hurry up."

The factory's interior space was larger than it appeared from the outside, but it was unusually cluttered and dark.

It was filled with a sense of oppression.

A few old work lamps, haphazardly hung from rusty steel beams by wires, provided limited illumination.

The light cast shimmering spots on the oil- and dust-covered ground.

The cloying, pungent smell of engine oil, rust, sweat, and cheap marijuana in the air was even stronger, almost solidifying.

Piles of scrapped car frames, mountains of old tires, rusted oil drums, dismantled engines, and unidentified mechanical waste were everywhere.

This creates dark corners and complex obstacles.

Seven or eight young people of different ages and dressed in different ways sat or stood scattered in the shadows.

Some were smoking silently, their bodies enveloped in smoke;

Some were talking in hushed tones, emitting rough, hoarse laughter;

Some looked Li Ang up and down with undisguised malice.

In the center of the factory, Venomous Lexie sat imposingly on a slightly cleaner-looking, worn-out single sofa.

He was wearing a wrinkled black silk shirt.

He lay with his chest open, revealing his lean frame.

He was slowly and methodically peeling a wilted apple with his well-maintained, gleaming butterfly knife.

The blade flashed nimbly between his withered fingers, tracing cold arcs.

His right arm, from shoulder to elbow, seemed somewhat unnaturally stiff.

The movement was noticeably slower than the left hand's, by a beat.

That was a lingering effect of the gunshot wound, as described by Officer Karen.

Hearing the noise at the door, Rex lazily raised his eyelids.

Those narrow, cloudy, and cold, cruel triangular eyes lingered for a moment on DeShawn's pale, terrified face.

The camera then focused on the calm and composed Li Ang.

The act of peeling the apple abruptly stopped.

The sharp knife froze at my fingertips.

A small, speckled piece of apple peel fell silently onto the greasy, dirty ground.

The air seemed to freeze.

The whispers and rustling sounds that had been filling the factory floor inexplicably subsided.

Everyone felt the suffocating oppression.

"Hahaha! Holy shit! Holy shit!!!"

Rex suddenly burst into a hoarse, maniacal laugh.

He laughed so hard he bent over, and punched the armrest of the broken sofa hard with his left hand, which wasn't holding the knife.

It made a muffled "thump" sound.

"It really is you! It really is you! Hahahaha!!!"

Lexy jumped up from the sofa with a "whoosh".

He casually tossed the half-peeled apple and the gleaming butterfly knife behind him without even glancing at them.

An apple fell onto an oil drum, splashing juice everywhere;

The butterfly knife then "thudded" and plunged deep into the surface of the old wooden table next to it.

The hilt of the knife trembled incessantly.

Like a sickly hyena that has finally caught a whiff of blood, Rex slowly took two steps forward.

His gaze, like viscous venom, was fixed on Li Ang.

It churned with naked, nauseating excitement and pleasure, as well as deep-seated resentment.

"Look! Look who this is?!"

Lexie's voice rose sharply due to extreme excitement, becoming somewhat shrill and distorted.

Wandering through the empty factory buildings.

"Our River Valley Academy's greatest hero! The speedster! Karen Jackson's little lover! Fiona's sickly little brother!!!"

He suddenly raised his still somewhat clumsy and stiff right arm.

His facial muscles contorted with hatred, his voice trembling with rage: "Do you still recognize this? Huh?! The hospital corridor! You, and that crazy bitch Karen Jackson! I fucking remember you! I remember you every day! I think about you every night!"

He practically roared it out, spittle flying everywhere.

"I was just fucking figuring out how to slowly pull you and your waiting-to-die sister out of some rat hole, crush your bones, and hear your screams—and you! You fucking delivered yourself right to my doorstep! That piece of trash DeShawn finally did something worthwhile, delivering this great gift to my lips! Hahahaha!"

Rex's laughter turned cold and sticky, like a venomous snake crawling across the ground.

He glanced at the eight or nine men who were gradually closing in, their eyes gleaming with malice, and who were either openly or secretly holding weapons.

They seem to have more confidence now.

A cruel, triumphant look of complete control appeared on his face.

"New scores, old scores, we'll settle them all tonight! We'll get them all clear and square! Last time at the hospital, you and that crazy woman managed to escape. This time, look at this place! Huh? All my men here!"

He opened his arms, displaying his kingdom.

"Today I'll make you kneel here and watch as I repay you tenfold, a hundredfold, for the humiliation you inflicted on me! Don't worry, once you're all useless, I'll sell your body parts for a good price. That way, you'll die a worthy death! Hahahaha!"