Both start in hell: but their talents are multiplied a hundredfold.

"So," Bullseye said without looking up, his voice low and hoarse.

"A few useless errand boys got scared so badly by a TV priest that they peed their pants, and then you woke up Mr. Kingpin in the middle of the night?"

Jin ignored him, but simply raised her chin, signaling the man in the floral shirt to continue.

The man in the floral shirt and the bald, muscular man stood about five steps away from the desk, their legs trembling slightly.

The man in the floral shirt dared not look Kingpin in the eye, and could only stare at a small, reflective marble paperweight on the corner of the table, beginning to stammer as he repeated himself.

It all started with blackmailing Shen Jue, then they discovered he lived in an apartment building, then they threatened him by releasing dead cats and dogs, and then their men witnessed him dodging bullets, crushing guns, and reciting verses from the Bible to get him to deliver a message.

"He said you... he said you're a 'big eater'." The man in the floral shirt swallowed.

"They even said they wanted to visit you in person."

Kingpin raised a hand, and the man in the floral shirt immediately shut his mouth, even holding his breath.

"His abilities?" Kingpin's voice was deep and resonant.

"The bullets won't hit him," the bald, burly man whispered beside him.

"It's also possible that he dodged it. That priest was too fast, like he could predict the trajectory of a bullet."

"Moreover, he can grab a gun from a distance, and his fingers can squeeze the gun into an iron ball."

"I suspect he can also teleport; I didn't hear a sound when he appeared."

"Teleportation, telekinesis, predicting ballistics," Kingpin repeated slowly, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Even third-rate con artists wouldn't dare cram so many abilities into a mutant when they're making up stories."

"It's true! Mr. Kingpin! I swear!"

"He was right behind us, less than a step away! When I fired, he leaned back, and the bullet grazed his nose! He didn't even blink!" The bald, burly man raised his voice excitedly.

The gangster immediately realized he was being too loud and quickly pulled his head back.

Bullseye finally looked up, stopped throwing the knife, and instantly embedded the steel blade into the coffee table. Then he turned to look at Kingpin.

"Sounds like a circus clown," Bullseye said.

"But circus clowns can be quite interesting sometimes."

"He's not a clown." The man in the floral shirt was sweating.

"That guy isn't afraid of bullets, and he's never revealed his identity on television!"

"This mutant must have ulterior motives!"

"Otherwise, they wouldn't have chosen to reveal their abilities tonight!"

Kingpin was silent for a moment, then tapped his finger very lightly on the table, the sound like a pebble falling into a deep well in the quiet hall.

"Interesting," Kingpin said. "A mutant priest with multiple abilities came to my territory and got into a conflict with me."

"That's really interesting."

"I suspect it's a trick by my old friends."

He stood up, his white suit taut with the movement, revealing glimpses of his muscles beneath the fabric.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, turned his back to the crowd, and looked down at the city below, a city nurtured by neon lights and crime.

"The priest wants to visit me." He said calmly, "Very well, then I'll prepare a sermon for him."

"Do these wild mutants always think they can threaten my gangster empire?"

"Humans have hundreds of ways to kill these arrogant mutants."

Kingpin turned around and looked at Bullseye.

"Go see him and give our friend a little surprise." Kingpin's voice was as cold as steel gliding across ice.

"Let those brain-dead mutants see the power of modern weapons."

Bullseye licked his lips, a very faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

He pulled the steel knife from the coffee table, twirled it between his fingers, and then tucked it into his waistband.

"Don't worry, I'll send him to heaven from ten kilometers away." Bullseye stood up, stretched his neck, and made a cracking sound.

"Of course, as long as our Father Shen Jue doesn't like little boys."

"He will then be able to go to heaven smoothly."

"Otherwise, Father Shen Jue would have to go to hell to keep Lucifer company."

Kingpin sat back down in his chair, his massive body shrouded in shadow, with only half his face outlined by the cold city light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Don't make a mistake," Kingpin said. "Let our young, comical stage actor go to meet his God."

At the same time, on a bench by the street, Shen Jue slowly opened her eyes.

He tilted his head slightly, looking towards Midtown Manhattan, his gaze piercing through countless steel beams and glass, as if he could see the murderous intent brewing on the top floor of that building.

"Bullseye," Shen Jue murmured the name.

After saying that, he moved and flew towards the top floor of the building.

The next second after Kingpin said "Don't miss," a light but clear knock came from outside the French windows.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The pace was slow, even refined, like someone politely knocking on a neighbor's door before visiting.

The air on the entire floor froze instantly.

Shen Jue was suspended more than 300 meters above the ground, facing the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

He wore a black priest's robe with a snow-white collar, the hem of which fluttered gently in the night wind, like a raven perched in the wind.

Shen Jue held a hardcover Bible in her right hand, her index finger pinching the page with the bookmark ribbon, while her left hand hovered in mid-air, her knuckles just withdrawing from the glass.

A faint fingerprint was left on the glass.

The neon lights of New York spread out behind him like a tilted sea of ​​light.

His face was half in light and half in shadow, only his eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.

"Hello." Shen Jue's voice came through the glass, but it was so clear that it was as if she were standing right next to everyone.

Is anyone in here?

The tone was incredibly gentle, like a seminary student knocking on a neighbor's door on Christmas Eve with a hot cocoa in hand.

Kingpin remained seated in his chair.

He did not make any rash moves; his thick hands remained clasped together on the table, like two stranded black anchors.

His expression was like a granite block frozen in ice, with only his pupils slightly contracting deep in his eyes.

Bullseye has stood up.

His previously languid posture instantly tensed into a taut bow the moment Shen Jue's voice rang out. He was no longer a lazy gangster assassin, but a knife drawn from its sheath.

His right hand had already slid to his waist, his fingertips resting on the hilt of the steel knife, and his gaze was fixed on the black figure outside the French window, as if calculating the distance, angle, wind speed, and glass thickness, over Kingpin's shoulder.

"How can a Chinese mutant fly?" Bullseye's voice was low, like a blade scraping against a whetstone.