Mysteries On Marvel

Effortlessly intercepting the two bullets fired by Cross, Sloan, now rejuvenated by the essence of six elite assassins, stepped forward, his appearance younger and brimming with vitality.

Seeing the shock on Cross's face, Sloan's lips curled into a mocking smile.

"What's wrong, Carlos? You look surprised," he sneered.

"You're Sloan?"

Rolling to the ground, Cross looked at the seemingly younger man in disbelief. His gaze drifted to the six shriveled corpses on the floor, their eerie appearance making his heart clench.

Fox, the Gunsmith…

Even in their current state, drained of all vitality, Cross recognized them by their clothing—these were his former comrades, elite members of the Brotherhood.

Before entering the study, Cross had considered these individuals his primary obstacles. Now, before he could even face them, they were reduced to grotesque husks.

Staring at the remains of Fox and the others, Cross quickly pieced together the source of his earlier unease.

Although he didn't know exactly what had occurred in this room, one thing was clear: Sloan was deeply involved.

"Looks like you've been busy in the few days I was gone, Sloan," Cross remarked coldly. "You must have been overjoyed not having me around to deal with."

"There's no need to pretend in front of me, Carlos," Sloan replied, taking a few steps closer. His gaze locked on Cross, he said, "What you really want to know is why I look like this, isn't it?"

"Will you tell me?"

"Of course."

Sloan gestured to the corpses around him with a smirk. "I simply offered them as a sacrifice to a demon and received its gift in return."

Cross's expression hardened. "A demon? Sloan, you bastard, you've sided with Hell!"

For members of the Brotherhood, who revered the Loom of Fate as a divine tool, belief in God was absolute. Their creed—Kill one to save a thousand—was an act of faith, a fulfillment of divine will.

Their killings were not for the sake of murder but for salvation, saving countless lives by eliminating those deemed fated to bring harm.

Now, their leader, the very figurehead of their sacred mission, had turned to Hell. This betrayal struck at the core of Cross's beliefs, filling him with rage and a sense of desecration.

"Haha…" Sloan chuckled coldly. "Carlos, you've known all along. If God wanted me dead, then why shouldn't I embrace Hell instead?"

"Die, you faithless scum!"

Enraged by Sloan's blasphemy, Cross raised his guns. Adrenaline surged through his body, propelling him into bullet-time. With a rapid pull of the triggers, bullets shot toward Sloan's vital points, sealing off any potential escape routes.

"Hmph, and you, who betrayed your creed and killed your own son, think you're above reproach?"

Sloan scoffed, unperturbed.

The moment Cross raised his guns, Sloan activated bullet-time himself. Moving in perfect sync with Cross, he fired precise shots, deflecting some of the incoming bullets with his own.

Using the openings he created, Sloan deftly sidestepped Cross's barrage.

Once clear of the hail of bullets, Sloan retaliated, firing his own shots. His bullets collided mid-air with those from Cross, creating a dazzling and surreal display.

As Cross ducked behind a column to reload, Sloan flicked his wrist, sending a golden bullet in an elegant arc. Forced to roll out of cover, Cross narrowly avoided being struck.

"Is this all you've got? If so, you're a disappointment, Carlos," Sloan taunted.

With his newfound strength, Sloan felt he could easily overpower Cross. But he had no intention of killing him outright.

Sloan wanted to savor the moment—to break Cross both physically and mentally, leaving him in utter despair before delivering the final blow.

The knowledge whispered to him by the demon had included rituals to please his new master. Torturing and killing a legendary figure like Cross, a top-tier assassin of the dark world, would be the ultimate offering.

Having already tasted the power granted by the demon, Sloan eagerly anticipated the rewards he would receive after offering Cross's life.

Meanwhile, Eren had extracted the recipe for the factory's unique restorative wax from the Pharmacist using Disheartened Stare and his psychic grip.

Once he had what he needed, Eren drove the Vengeful Threads into the Pharmacist, draining his flesh and soul to nourish the weapon.

With the Pharmacist dealt with, Eren glanced toward the second floor, where gunfire continued to echo from the study. A smirk played on his lips.

"Take your time. I won't be joining you."

In the next moment, Eren vanished, heading toward the room where Mr. X's memories indicated the Loom of Fate was kept.

From the start, Eren had never forgotten his true purpose for coming to the factory.

As for the feud between Cross and Sloan, it had nothing to do with him.

Click!

After a few failed attempts to pick the lock on the room's ancient door with a piece of wire, Eren heard a snapping sound—not the lock giving way, but the wire breaking.

"Damn it, what a hassle!"

Irritated, Eren activated the Vengeful Threads coiled around his finger, slicing through the sturdy metal lock with ease.

Click!

The lock fell apart, and Eren pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the textile factory's most secretive chamber.

(End of Chapter)

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