My attributes are increasing infinitely Chapter 459: Killing Max

A week had elapsed.

Ethan remained by himself in the middle of the shadowy chamber that previously resembled a prison. At present, it seemed overly confined for him.

During that period, his form had expanded swiftly. The weak youngster once hauled into this spot was gone. He now had the build of a youth, with a slim yet toned body. Each action he performed was accurate and deliberate.

A see-through display flickered softly within his sight before vanishing.

[Master: Ethan Hunt

Physique: 820 kg

Spirit: 820 kg

Talent: Infinite Comprehension]

He was close to exceeding James in sheer might. The Black Bull Gang consisted of mere lowly ruffians who depended on threats and sheer numbers instead of genuine strength. No superiors existed in their ranks, nor anyone truly exceptional.

In truth, Ethan had already emerged as the mightiest figure within the group.

Pride did not stir within him.

Readiness filled him instead.

On the final day of the week, the chamber's door burst open abruptly. The rusty hinges groaned, shattering the quiet.

Ethan directed his attention to the doorway.

Max entered ahead, his face showing strain. Following him came a towering, wide-framed individual with dense, rope-like muscles bulging under his soiled garments. Despite the grimy and crude clothing, the firearm at his belt proclaimed his dominance.

Ethan regarded him steadily.

Perhaps he leads the gang, Ethan mused.

Max gestured toward Ethan, his tone laced with unrest.

"Boss, take a good look at this kid. I suspected something earlier. When I dragged him in, he was only a toddler of two or three. Now he appears nearly adult. James has to be aware of whatever's happening. That's why he's stashed him away in here."

The figure Max addressed as boss stayed silent initially.

His name was Drek.

He scrutinized Ethan with squinted eyes, assessing him quietly. Never before had he encountered someone so strikingly attractive in an unnatural way. Even amid the squalor of the room, Ethan appeared poised and elegant, as if the surroundings couldn't tarnish him.

Moments later, Drek broke the silence.

"Got any secrets?"

Ethan offered no response. Explaining to a man who would soon lie dead or submit held no value. Concealment's era had ended. Now, he would seize control of the gang.

He advanced one step, instantly positioning himself before them.

"Damn," Drek whispered, his eyes bulging in terror. His palm darted to his belt, yet another acted swifter. Ethan's grip seized the weapon first, and through a blur of rapid motions, the pistol dismantled in his grasp. The fragments rattled across the ground.

"Greetings, Drek," Ethan stated, a serene grin forming on his features. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Max had toppled onto his rear, scuttling backward like a frightened crustacean. Drek remained rooted, perspiration forming on his brow.

"Wh... what are you?" Drek stammered, his voice fracturing from dread.

"My identity is irrelevant," Ethan answered. "Starting today, I claim the Black Bull Gang. For survival, serve under me."

Drek gazed at him extendedly. Then, an icy smirk twisted his mouth.

"The Black Bull Gang isn't standalone," Drek declared. "We answer to a much deadlier power. You've got promise. Become one of us properly. I'll appoint you vice leader."

Slash.

The noise blended moisture with keenness.

Drek's digit vanished. It existed one instant, then whirled airborne the next, leaving a fine helix of crimson in its wake. The finger hit the surface with a damp thud.

Crimson erupted from the remnant, a robust, throbbing flow that stained Drek's trousers. He gaped at his mangled hand, at the vivid, raw flesh baring bone and sinew.

Ethan leaned over, retrieving the detached finger. He flung it at Drek, where it rebounded from his torso.

"I demanded your obedience, not your words," Ethan intoned. "Speak irrelevantly once more, and your skull follows next."

Drek's complexion paled utterly. Agony now gripped him fiercely, buckling his legs. He pressed his injured limb to his body, blood still surging past his knuckles.

"Depart now," Ethan pressed on, "and summon every gang member. Flee if you dare, Drek. But witness this first."

His gaze turned to Max.

Max huddled against the wall on the ground. Meeting Ethan's stare, he grasped his impending doom. Recollections of his deeds since delivering the infant flooded him. He parted his lips to plead, but Ethan arrived before any plea sounded.

Ethan's fingers encircled Max's neck, embedding into the yielding tissue with force silencing all noise. Max's orbs protruded, limbs thrashing futilely on the floor. His palms rose to rake Ethan's limb, yet his nails shattered against unyielding flesh.

Then Ethan's free hand ascended, seizing Max's facial covering.

His digits located the boundary at the jaw, burrowing beneath. They wedged between layers of skin and underlying muscle. Max's eyes darted madly as the surreal peeling of his visage from bone commenced.

Ethan tugged.

The dermis elongated initially, elastic as latex. Then it yielded with a sodden rip. It separated from the sublayer, exposing the slick, scarlet strands of Max's countenance muscles. Max sought to wail, but his airway remained constricted. Only a moist rasp emerged, bubbling via ravaged lip remnants.

Crimson flowed presently. It started sparse, thickening as vessels ruptured. It cascaded over Max's features in rivulets, mingling with drool from his slack maw. His orbs endured, peering from a form gradually dismantled.

Ethan drew consistently, akin to doffing a mitt. The brow's hide followed, lifting with brows in tow. Subsequently, the crown's layer detached, locks clinging as it retracted. The auditory assault persisted: sodden shreds accented by sporadic sinew cracks.

Max's frame spasmed fiercely. Limbs floundered wildly, torso bucked. His cries devolved to damp effusions from a orifice of bare sinew. Dentition gleamed amid a non-face.

Crimson saturated the area. It gathered below in viscous, somber pools, widening gradually. It flecked Ethan's limbs and front, yet he ignored it entirely.

Max persisted in life and awareness, enduring the gradual flaying. His gaze followed Ethan's countenance, brimming with utter dread that devoured all.

Max's outbursts ceased. Not from demise, but exposure of his voice strands, dragged free with throat's dermis. A damp wheeze alone lingered.

Max endured one surreal instant, resembling a construct of uncooked flesh and revealed skeleton. His orbs vacant. Sinews jerked spasmodically. Cardiac rhythm pulsed via sheer thoracic veil.

Then Ethan elevated his palm, descending it in a crisp strike.

Max's crown detached from trunk with a moist snap, somersaulting before halting on the ground. The form lingered a beat, arterial spray from severed throat. Then it folded, slumping into a steaming scarlet mound within the chill.